Ideology
by Sionnain
Summary: When Rogue begins to doubt everything she's been taught, things begin to fall apart. Will she be able to put the pieces of herself back together in the last place she thought possible? BobbyXRogue, eventually MagnetoXRogue. 16 Chapters. NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It wasn't as if Rogue woke up one morning and decided that everything she believed in, everything they taught her at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, was a lie.

It all started with a job application. More accurately, it started with several.

She'd look back later and blame it all on Jubliee and Kitty's grand idea that they all get summer jobs at the mall, but that was only the start of the problem, not the cause of it.

"I mean, we should probably learn stuff about managing money and having a checking account," Kitty had said seriously, trying to find a way to paint Rogue's nails without accidentally brushing her skin. "We don't want to end up with a lot of debt because of credit cards while we're in college. I saw a show about it on _Dateline._ Trust me. It wasn't pretty, ladies."

Rogue and Jubilee both had just smiled and agreed with Kitty, because usually that was the easiest thing to do. Kitty was _very_ fond of opinions, and had many, on topics ranging from Gaucho pants to emo bands and everything in between. She was also very convinced of the veracity of television news programs.

Bobby thought it was a good idea, but not because of the _Dateline_ special about college students and debt. "We do need to learn how to be self-sufficient," he said, sounding remarkably like Mr. Summers. "I mean, someone cooks for us, cleans the bathroom, orders all our books and stuff. Someone even does our laundry. I don't even know what setting to wash sheets on. Do you?"

"I don't even know where the laundry room _is_," Rogue said with a grin. "Besides, what does having a summer job have to do with washing sheets?"

"Responsibility," Bobby said, shrugging. "Or something. Whatever, I was just saying it was a good idea." He went back to his comic book, some harrowing tale of adventure and hell-spawned orange men.

"I think so too," Kitty said with a nod. "I mean, you might never be able to buy a house, Rogue, did you know that? Too much college debt can absolutely _ruin_ your chances of getting a reasonable mortgage rate."

"Why am I the likely candidate for college debt?" Rogue asked dryly, grinning at her roommate. "_You're_ the one with the clothing obsession."

"That's why I'm going to get a summer job. The discount." Kitty giggled, and Rogue had tried to ignore how Bobby's eyes lingered just a little bit too long on Kitty's mouth, pink and glistening from her favorite strawberry-flavored lipgloss.

Just her imagination. Had to be. Bobby was a good boyfriend, and she was perfectly happy with him. Besides, Kitty was cute, and she couldn't really blame him for looking at the girls he could touch. He didn't _do_ anything about it, and that was all that really mattered.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Rogue liked to shop, but not so much because she wanted to buy anything, or at least not in the endless array of clothing shops she visited with Kitty and Jubilee.

She had a vague appreciation for fashionable clothing without any great desire to actually purchase it. She liked seeing nice things on Kitty or Jubilee because they wore them with a natural flair, some inner confidence that Rogue never felt like she had.

Perhaps it was because she had a lot of men taking up residence up there in her head, and they liked pretty clothes but didn't know the first thing about picking them out.

Perhaps it was because clothing was more a shield to her than anything, just another way she kept herself safe from everyone else, and vice versa.

Maybe it was all of these things, and maybe it was something else entirely, but she had no fashion sense to speak of. Most of the time, Rogue allowed her friends to drag her along for the companionship, and invariably came home with a black or green t-shirt or perhaps a new pair of jeans if she came home with anything at all.

No, Rogue liked going shopping because there was so much she could _touch_.

She liked to go into the stores and find the racks of silks and other soft materials, and after looking around to make sure it was safe, she would slip a glove off and slide the cloth between her fingers, feeling the smooth glide of silk or the warm, comfortable scratch of wool. Rogue was very aware of the feel of cloth against her skin, because it was the only thing that ever really touched her.

She would ride in the back of Kitty's jeep on the way to the mall, and on warm days they'd put the top down and Rogue would tie her hair back and take her gloves off, and feel the rush of the wind on her skin and feel the heat of the sun like a warm blanket settle around her. When it was cold or when it would rain, she'd roll down the window in the back and do the same, let the water run over her naked arms or allow the sharp bite of the cold air to prickle her skin. Even if she had to take the bus—Kitty was one of the few students with a car—she would press her face to the glass just to feel something touch her skin.

She appreciated them asking her to come along, even though she couldn't talk about trends and fashion with the same amount of ease they could. Even though they inevitably had to protect her from overzealous shopkeepers, who would try and bring the plain girl with the strange hair things to try on, doing their usual routine of holding clothes against her body, not knowing that one misstep or press of skin against Rogue's face or neck could kill them.

Today's shopping adventure had the additional requirement of picking up job applications for their proposed summer job plan. Jubilee and Kitty had decided they would only consider a job at the mall; Rogue had figured she might pick up applications in the bookstore, the music store, the goofy place that sold novelty items featuring ridiculous bunnies with various crude phrases printed beneath them and adult-themed games, and the Goth store. She figured maybe with her hair she would fit in well there, and she did own a lot of black and some wicked satin gloves.  
Jubilee and Kitty each picked up applications at their favorite clothing stores, though Rogue pointed out they'd never save any money if they ended up working there.

Kitty had thought about that for a minute. "We'll have all the clothes we need for college, though, and then we'll save ourselves from the lure of evil store credit cards," she decided. She looked at her two friends. "Does that sound fair?"

"Sounds responsible enough to me," Jubilee said with a laugh. "Although Kitty, you'll want new clothes in three months and you did just sign up for the Gap credit card."

"Yeah, well," Kitty said, shrugging, apparently unconcerned. "You got twenty percent off your first purchase! I'll just cut it up when it comes in the mail. Let's go get a milkshake."

Rogue grinned at Jubilee and put the applications in her bag, grateful for the moment that she felt just like any other girl her age.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Rogue waited until the end of the weekend to fill out her applications, until she was seated on the unused twin bed in Bobby's room (not St. John's bed, they never spoke about him, never mentioned the comics and the pair of shoes still shoved underneath), nibbling on her pen and reading over the applications. She'd nearly finished the first when she gave an indignant squeak, staring in outrage at the paper.

"What's the matter?" Bobby asked, looking up from his Boston College application. He'd been angsting over it for a week, trying to figure out the best way to explain why he was a good candidate for admission. Rogue had talked him out of writing "I don't need air conditioning or a refrigerator in my room and therefore will save you money," though she was hopeful he'd only been trying to make her laugh.

"Listen to this! Can they ask this? I don't think it's _legal_!" She shrieked, staring at the paper in a fury.

"Uh, Rogue?" Bobby stared at her, eyes wide, ball-point pen poised over his crisp white application. "You gonna tell me what it says?"

"_If you are a mutant with dangerous or life-threatening abilities, please check this box. This does not exclude you from employment; however, failure to divulge this information will result in immediate termination_." Rogue shook her head. "You ever heard anything so...well. I ain't gonna be applying here, thank you very much." She tossed the application aside and began filling out another one. Forget Hot Topic. Their stuff was lame, anyway, and way too expensive.

Unfortunately, the question wasn't limited to the one job application. It was on _all of them_. She stared at it for a long time, the words swimming in front of her eyes and making her sick.

"Everything okay?" Bobby asked her later, with that smile on his face that always made her want to kiss him. Today, oddly, it just made her sad because she couldn't, not like she wanted to.

_Yet another reason I have to check the damn box._

_No. Every thing's not okay. You wouldn't have to fill out the stupid box._

She just gave him a small sort of smile and shrugged, but didn't say anything.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"It's not that big a deal, Rogue," Kitty said later, when Rogue was sitting on her bed, brushing her wet hair, trying to feel like a normal girl again and not some sort of potentially deadly freak. Which was probably not a healthy thing to think about oneself, but she couldn't help it. She had begun to repeat that phrase in her head from the application over and over, like some demented mantra.

"Are you serious? It is too!" Angrily, she jerked the brush through her hair, pulling, finding a curious sort of appeasement from the pain. The white part of her hair was always very dry, and she wondered why that was. Maybe if she ever saw Magneto again, she'd ask him. The thought made her scowl harder. _We love what you've done with your hair, indeed._

"You could just check _no_," Kitty offered helpfully, chewing on her lip nervously as she saw Rogue's expression. She hung up the shirt she'd been wearing, some little spring top with ribbons and sheer sleeves. Rogue could put someone in a coma in a shirt like that if she wasn't careful.

"Then get fired when someone bumps into me and _dies_?" She tossed the brush across the room in a temper. "And tossed into jail for, what was it? Failing to divulge the information about my deadly skin?" She stared at the brush that lay across the room, breathing fast, trying to calm herself down.

Kitty stared at her for a few moments, concerned, then said slowly, "Maybe you should talk to Professor Xavier, Rogue. I mean, he'll know what to do, won't he?"

Rogue shrugged. "Why? He'll just tell me to fill out the application honestly and hope for the best." Something dark passed across her face; the shadow of someone else's disapproval, perhaps. _His_ voice was a quiet echo now, where once it had been a scream, for which she supposed she should be grateful.

"Well, maybe he won't. You know. He might not want anyone reading it and showing up to ask questions or something about you." Kitty went back to hanging up her clothes, about which she was obsessively neat. Which was good, considering how much of them she had, but odd considering the mess she had on her bookshelves.

Rogue stared at her, feeling a little sick, finding it suddenly hard to speak. "You think I'm a danger to the school?"

Kitty looked at her, surprised. "Uh, 'course not, Rogue. I'm just saying, maybe the Professor won't want you to go around and turn in applications telling everyone how dangerous you are. You know." She smiled at Rogue. "Silly, _I_ know you're not dangerous."

Rogue looked down at her bare hands, at the gloves resting on the nightstand beside her bed, the soft cotton ones she wore to bed. She remembered when she'd first come here, how she'd nearly killed Logan. "I _am_ dangerous," she said quietly, and heard someone laughing in the recesses of her mind, cool and quiet and faintly amused.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

She ended up going to see the Professor, in the end, because she was honestly without a clue about what to do. Besides, was this some weird trend she had to look forward to for other things, like college? Was she ever going to get a job, _anywhere_, or was this question going to haunt her forever?

While everyone else headed outside to enjoy the warm spring weather, Rogue made her way to the Professor's office. The mansion felt very large and quiet around her as she walked down the hallway and knocked on the heavy oak door, which was probably unnecessary. He must have known she was coming. She waited for his verbal, "Come in," and then pushed the door open and went inside.

Rogue always had an idea that she made Professor Xavier nervous. He was perfectly polite and understanding with her, as he was with all the students, but she sometimes detected a slight tightening around his mouth whenever she spoke to him, some vague hint of reserve about him. Maybe she was imagining it, but she always felt like he was on guard with her more than with some of the others.

"Rogue," he said, smiling at her. "Please, sit down." He waved a hand to indicate the seat in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

Rogue looked at him warily, thinking carefully how best to answer him. "I sorta have…a little problem," she admitted slowly, pulling back to sit straighter in the smooth wooden chair that faced his desk. She told him about how she'd wanted to get a summer job with Kitty and Jubilee, about the question on the application she didn't know how to answer.

"I imagine that is most definitely problematic." His voice was smooth and benign, as if they were discussing her most recent paper on William Faulkner.

Rogue nodded. "Yeah," she said, twisting her fingers together, black leather sliding slickly against each other. "I don't want to be the only one at home all day while everyone else is out being productive," she said, shaking her head. The thought of spending all summer watching Bobby play endless games of _Soul Caliber III_with Piotr because humanity was too intolerant to give her a job? Yeah. Not so pleasant.

"I wouldn't find video games all that entertaining for an entire summer either," the Professor agreed, and Rogue felt a brief flare of annoyance, tensing at this unwelcome intrusion into her thoughts. There had to be at least some part of her mind that remained her own for her not to go completely mad, didn't there?

"My apologies," he said, inclining his head, sounding sincerely apologetic. "I do not mean to pry. I understand the dilemma. If you want to answer the question honestly, Rogue, go right ahead."

Rogue sighed. "Great. So the mansion can be raided again?" She shook her head. "Don't think I want to be the cause of that, Professor." Rogue was relatively unscathed from her rather harrowing encounters with the Brotherhood and Stryker's forces, but she felt guilty whenever she saw the (recently renovated) train station and she wasn't overly fond of anything with the Statue of Liberty on it.

"Those incidents were hardly your fault," the Professor said softly. "What do you think you should do, Rogue?"

Rogue gave him a considering look. "I want to fill them out and turn them in. At least, you know. To see what happens. But I don't…" she trailed off, remembering the soldiers, remembering how she'd cut herself running across broken glass and still had a scar on the bottom of her foot.

He nodded. "I understand. My concern is for the safety of this school and the students, of course, but you must be allowed to make your own decisions in regards to these types of situations."

That wasn't really an answer, and she felt a little shaken. He was supposed to reassure her, wasn't he? Tell her that he would protect her if they came looking for her?

"Of course I would," the Professor said with a nod, and Rogue felt herself relax a little. "I assure you, if anyone shows up unannounced because of your job applications, I shall make them have a sudden urge to be elsewhere."

"All right." She turned to go, but when her gloved hand made contact with the shining brass doorknob she turned to look back at him. "What would you do, Professor? Would you check _yes_ or _no_ on the application?"

He looked at her for a few moments without speaking. "I suppose I would keep in mind that while we want to co-exist with humanity, Rogue, we want to avoid blatant displays of our abilities."

Something about that rang false to her, and she gazed at him with narrowed eyes. He held up a hand, stopping words she was too respectful to say, and continued. "I would also, of course, remind myself that hiding what I was from the world eventually became problematic."

"But that's not an answer," she said, shaking her head and biting back the words she wanted so badly to say. _How can we convince them we're not a danger and then lie to them at the same time?_

"Perhaps not," Charles said shrewdly. "Rogue, it seems to me you have two choices. You may either lie on your application and hope to change their perspective by revealing later who and what you are, or you may tell the truth and confront this unfortunate situation head on. I do not know if one way is better than the other, but there is likely one way that suits you best." He smiled at her. "I think perhaps we may differ a bit on that score."

Did they? She liked to think she was the type who was gifted at subterfuge, but all she could think about was the people she might inadvertently hurt if some unforeseen accident were to occur. "I guess I'll think about it, then." She gave a forced smile and left his office, feeling oddly alone as she walked down the polished wood floors, her footfalls echoing in the hushed darkness of the corridor.

_There is likely one way that suits you best._

When she returned to her room, she found her applications and sat down at her desk, carefully filling out the hated box on the papers and tucking them into her bookbag. She'd turn them in that weekend.

It would have been easier to check _no_, but Rogue didn't always do what was easiest. She just hoped she was doing what was _right_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rogue was surprised when they'd called her.

She certainly hadn't expected it, and in fact, had rather regretted her impulsive decision to embrace honesty, or whatever it was she'd done. Besides, Kitty and Jubilee both had only received a few calls from all the applications they'd returned, and neither of them had checked the box as Rogue had.

Kitty had confessed after turning in her job applications that maybe she should have checked _yes_. "I mean, if something gets stolen and they find about me…"

"No," Jubilee had said sternly, shaking her head. "That's not harmful. Besides, if you get fired, then just stop shopping there. The loss of revenue'll teach 'em a lesson."

Kitty had answered the phone in their room, looking confused for a minute before she'd handed the phone over to her. "It's for you," she whispered unnecessarily.

"Hello?" Rogue gave her roommate a mock glare—she didn't get a lot of phone calls, but that hardly warranted the look of confusion on Kitty's face, did it?

"Yes, is this Marie?"

It took Rogue a minute to figure out the woman wanted her, which must have been what confused her roommate. No one ever called her _Marie_, but she could hardly fill out the application with _Rogue_, could she? "Yeah. I mean, yes," she said quickly, wanting to sound professional. "This is she."

"Hi, Marie. This is Devon from Hot Topic Just wondering if you wanted to come in for an interview."

Rogue was so shocked she didn't even notice the slight strain in the woman's voice. "Um…sure," she said, smiling at Kitty. She arranged the date and time and then hung up the phone.

"See!" Kitty crowed, clapping, when Rogue told her. "I knew it! They don't care about that. You were probably the perfect applicant. You know. With the hair and your weird attachment to black eyeliner."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Right. Then they'll love you at the _Limited, Too_ with all that glitter and purple you wear."

Kitty giggled, unabashed. "I have an interview there on Saturday. Come on, let's go tell Jubes! And Bobby!" She reached out and grabbed Rogue's arm; guided by instinct, Rogue pulled back until she remembered she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

They found Bobby in the game room, unsurprisingly playing a video game with Piotr. "Guess what," she said, sitting next to him.

"You got a job interview." Bobby didn't take his eyes away from the screen, reflecting bright colors and flashing lights as his character battled it out with Piotr's.

"Don't let your girlfriend distract you," Piotr crowed, eyes glued to the action, though it was clear he really wouldn't mind.

"She won't. Least, not enough to keep me from winning. And what else could it be?" For some reason his words to Piotr made her a little sad.

_She won't._

_Yeah. Cause she can't. _

"Maybe I won the lottery. Maybe I figured out how to touch people without killin' 'em. Maybe I—" before she could finish, Bobby let out a triumphant yell as his animated character did an overly complicated move to finish off Piotr's, and he turned to her. His blue eyes glittered, his grin was easy and pleased. He was very handsome, Bobby, especially when he smiled.

"I figured it was something _real_," he teased her, and slapped her lightly on her back, like he used to do to St. John when they played basketball. "But good job, babe. That's great. Piotr, you want to play another round before dinner?"

Rogue stared at him for a moment, her happiness somewhat diminished. Kitty, astute as always, jumped up and tugged at her. "Come on, Rogue. Let's go find Jubilee. She hasn't been called back at all, yet, and I think she snuck in and applied at Hot Topic too when I wasn't there to tell her not to. I mean, her hair's _naturally_ dark."

"Oh, so it's okay for _me_, but not her?" Rogue said, standing up to follow her out of the room, forcing her voice to sound lighthearted.

"Are you kidding? Jubilee likes hip-hop." Kitty opened the door and gestured for her to follow.

Rogue went to leave, but paused when she thought she felt eyes on her. She turned back, convinced it was Bobby, wondering if maybe he'd wink at her and then she'd feel better.

No one was looking at her.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"Thanks a lot for coming in, Marie. I'll hope you'll understand that we're just looking for someone with a little more experience."

Rogue was beginning to think that she could come in to these interviews—she'd had more scheduled than either of her friends—and sit down to answer the questions without her prospective employers even having to ask her anything,

They all ended the same, too. "Thanks, but we need someone with experience. We hope you'll understand."

Except, of course, she didn't think that was why they declined to hired her. She figured the only reason she was even getting interviews was because they wanted to prove that they weren't discriminating against her, so they could show anyone that asked that she'd had a fair shot.

This was the last of her scheduled interviews, at Barnes and Noble, where she honestly thought she might be able to get hired. She liked reading, aced the book test (anyone who took literature courses from Professor Xavier would have done the same), and the person who'd called her had sounded the friendliest of all of them.

The other thing Rogue thought was funny was that they all said, "We hope you'll understand," at the end. _Oh, I understand._ The injustice of it rather infuriated her; maybe they _did_ want someone with more retail experience, but that hadn't stopped either Jubilee or Kitty from snagging jobs at Pac Sun and Abercrombie. So that really couldn't be why they didn't hire her, could it?

"You did do exceptionally well on your book test." Mr. Williams, the manager who was interviewing her, tossed that out like he was trying to find something to placate her with.

_Probably was taught that in some managerial class. Let the dangerous mutants down easy, throw them a bone. Lest they kill you._

Rogue might have been able to keep her cool if he hadn't sounded so…_surprised_ about that. "Was it the accent?" She asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes. "Lotsa people think all of us from the South are dumb, 'specially up here in New York." She made her accent thicker, the way Jubilee always did when she tried to mimic Rogue's voice.

Mr. Williams expelled a breath as if he'd expected her to say something different. "Oh, of course not! My wife's family's from the South. Texas," he explained, and Rogue tried not to correct him.

_Texas is the southwest, idiot._

"So, yes. Marie, please do come see us again when you've put a few more jobs on that employment form." He stood up and smiled, and reached his hand out to her.

Rogue stared at him for several seconds, ignoring his hand. She laughed. "You mean, when I've not killed anyone by workin' in retail, right?"

She saw the moment the worry registered on his face, saw the fear that he tried to hide. Fear of _her_, fear of the box she'd checked. "I don't…don't understand," he said slowly, but she knew that he did.

"Look, let's get somethin' straight, okay? You aren't going to hire me, and I'm fine with that. I understand and I'm not gonna go hire a lawyer and sue you. But I want you to tell me it's because of what I checked on the box, the reason why you won't hire me." Rogue found she was shaking in indignation, tears of anger burning in her eyes.

Why couldn't just _one_ of them admit that she wasn't hired because she'd stupidly checked _yes_ on their damned "dangerous mutant" question?

Mr. Williams backed up into his desk, knocking over his little wooden pencil holder and sending pencils scattering from his desk to clatter on the tile floor. He didn't attempt to pick them up. The look on his face made Rogue want to cry even more. "I don't know what you—"

Her laughter sounded far too brittle for someone her age. "Right. Guess I should have known." She turned to leave, sickened by her anger and how afraid he seemed to be of her. "Just…why haven't any of you asked me what it is?"

"What….what do you mean?" His voice was very low, full of nerves. He smelled of cigarette smoke—she gathered he'd go smoke about four in a row when she left and tell everyone about the mutant who'd lost her temper and nearly killed him. Even though all she was about to do was break down and cry in his office.

Rogue turned around slowly, the skirt she'd worn for her interview—borrowed from Jubilee—swishing around her bare legs. She'd been nervous about wearing a skirt because of her powers, but she'd done so anyway. (As Kitty had said, if the interviewer was running his hand up her bare legs, she probably didn't want to work there.) "Why haven't any of you asked me what my power is? You know. The one that made me check the box. You were gonna shake my hand, and you didn't even ask."

Rogue didn't wait for him to reply. She pushed the door open and walked out, arms wrapped herself, feeling like a failure.

_I wish I could have done it. Taken my glove off, shook hands with him, and let him see why I had to check the stupid box. Except then I'd have someone else in my head, and I'd get in trouble. Ain't worth it._

She walked through the parking lot towards her roommate's jeep, borrowed for her excursion to the mall, and drove home with the windows down even though it was raining. She drove the car as if she was on auto-pilot, the radio off, listening to the roar of traffic and wishing for a moment she was anyone else in the cars she passed; normal, listening to music, going home where someone could hug her without the danger of her killing them by accident.

Why couldn't they just tell her the truth? That might have been easier, if they could have just _admitted_ it…

_She'd_ admitted it, hadn't she? She was the one with the damned ability, and she'd told them about it when she clearly didn't have to. Why couldn't they just repay her honesty with their own and tell her the truth?

Rogue was so lost in her thoughts, she nearly missed the turn to the Institute. Scowling, she took a hard right and was grateful the car didn't slide on the wet streets and overturn into a ditch. That'd be a great ending to a great day, wouldn't it?

She managed to arrive in her room all in one piece, and she fell on the bed without caring she was all wet. Kitty came in a few minutes later, obviously from dinner, which Rogue had missed because of her interview. She was carrying a plate covered in plastic wrap, ostensibly dinner, with a few extra brownies stacked on top.

"Hey, how was the…" she took a look at Rogue's face and sat the plate down on the dresser. "Not so good, then?"

"Just like the others," Rogue said, staring up at the ceiling. "They hope I understand that they need someone with more experience. And no deadly mutant powers. Except, you know, they only really told me the first part." She couldn't look at Kitty, didn't want to see any hint of sympathy on her friend's face.

"Well, look at the bright side," Kitty said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. "You can sleep in on the weekends." She took Rogue's shoes, which she'd kicked off, and carried them into the bathroom to wash the mud off. "It's not your fault they're so scared, Rogue. They just don't know any better."

"Will they ever?" She remembered when they'd put the glow-in-the-dark stars up on the ceiling, the ones that Rogue had received in her stocking last Christmas. Kitty had made a happy face instead of the constellation pictured on the package.

Kitty didn't answer, and Rogue wasn't sure if that was because she couldn't hear her over the water or because Kitty didn't have an answer that Rogue wanted to hear.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

"I'm sorry you're upset," Bobby gently, smoothing her hair back, careful not to let his fingers linger too long on her skin. They were lying on the couch in the game room, Rogue with her head on his lap, enjoying the rare quiet of a Friday night.

Rogue looked up at him, grateful for even the slightest bit of contact, though there was an unpleasant twist in her stomach in reaction to his words. She didn't doubt that he was sorry, but she doubted he really _understood_.

"Bobby, what if…what if I have to answer that question my whole life? Like on…college applications and stuff?" She nibbled on her lower lip.

"You won't," he assured her. "There's a lot of us mutants, and there's more being born every day. So when we're in power, we can make the decisions."

"Okay, _Magneto_," she joked weakly, though she gave him a concerned look. "What kinda power you aiming for, there?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I mean, power in public office and stuff. You know. Policy making."

"Bobby, how're you gonna be an elected official if we mutants can't get jobs?" She gave a small, unpleasant sort of laugh. "Oh, right. Because you don't have to check the box, you might have a better chance at not scarin' the humans," she said sarcastically.

Bobby sighed. "Rogue, I wouldn't have to, but…look, I could kill someone too, you know."

"Yeah," Rogue snapped, sitting up. "But you'd have to _try_."

He raked a hand through his hair and she saw the tense set of his shoulders, and felt a little bad that she was vexing him. Rogue knew she probably wasn't the world's most ideal girlfriend, what with the moodiness and the inability to touch thing, but he was a good person and she probably didn't deserve him.

"Have you ever killed anyone? Besides that one time with Logan," he amended quickly. "Have you ever almost killed anybody, Rogue, accident or not?"

"Magneto," she said quietly, remembering the fear and the taste of metal in her mouth, and the intensity in his face as he'd grabbed her.

"Well, that doesn't count. Would have been all right, you know, if that had happened." Bobby muttered, angry. Rogue knew it wasn't just on her behalf—he was still mad about St. John "defecting," and it was easier to blame Magneto than Pyro for what had happened with his parents and his brother.

_No one wants to admit their friends capable of destruction._

That thought did not make her feel better.

"Would it?" Rogue stared at him intently. "We're not supposed to kill, are we? I mean, isn't that the rule?"

"He tried to kill you," Bobby said slowly, as if she were being idiotic on purpose, and maybe she was. Rogue didn't like to dwell too much on what had happened on Liberty Island if she could help it.

"I don't want to kill anybody," Rogue snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not even Magneto. But nobody's ever gonna believe me, Bobby. All I'll ever be is dangerous, and that's all anyone is ever gonna see."

"Everyone's dangerous if they want to be, Rogue," Bobby said quietly, his voice sad. "Every human being out there has the capacity to be just as bad as the most dangerous of mutants."

"You sound like the Professor," Rogue muttered, forcing herself to calm down. It was pointless to rant about this to Bobby—it wasn't his fault, and he obviously cared about her, didn't he, despite the deadly ability she possessed?

"Well, it's true. I mean, humans and mutants both, we can be good or evil. We have to choose. Magneto chose to be evil, and we didn't. It doesn't have anything to do with what powers we have or what box we check." He leaned back and put his arms beneath his head, watching her with wary eyes.

"I don't think it's that simple," Rogue said suddenly, but she forced herself to stop talking. There were times, on those occasions she thought about Liberty Island, that she could still remember Magneto's overwhelming _certainty_ that what he was doing was right.

Even when she was screaming for someone to release her, part of her didn't want to let go, didn't want them to stop the machine. She would think about that sometimes and couldn't sleep. It wasn't all that comforting, having a twisted sort of belief in the reasons behind your impending death.

"No," Bobby said vehemently, drawing her out of thoughts of the past, "I think it is."

"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do, Bobby? Wait around for humanity to realize that? I don't know if you noticed, but my first foray into being honest didn't work out so well." She looked away, at the darkened television screen, seeing her reflection in the slick glass.

"Well, maybe you should try again. Just don't check the box this time." He didn't sound very certain, though, about that idea.

Rogue laughed darkly. "Yeah. Maybe I should." She had no intention of doing that. In fact, she'd be lucky if she ever _went_ to the mall again.

He reached out tentatively, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Rogue, I know you don't want to hurt anyone. I know you're not dangerous. It's just…people are scared of things they don't understand, you know."

Her gloved hand came up to rest lightly on his. "I know that, Bobby," she said quietly. "My problem is that I don't know what to do until they start understanding us, or if they ever will." Maybe she'd talk to Mr. Summers about that, sometime.

He drew her closer to him. "I'm not working this summer, either. I'm helping the Professor with research. You should ask him about it, too. Maybe he needs some more help." That idea did not appeal to her, but she only smiled at him. "Anyway, we'll at least get to spend a lot of time together since we don't have classes." He grinned at her, the wariness having vanished from his face.

"I'll be unemployed, but I'll be good at _Soul Caliber 3_," Rogue joked, and dropped the subject as he moved to kiss her. She had to concentrate, know when to pull back, so that she didn't hurt him.

_They won't even admit it here, that I'm dangerous._

That thought was unpleasant, and she forcibly shoved it to the back of her mind. This wasn't the time or place to think about such things.


	3. Chapter 3

** Thank you to CareBearErin for all the nice reviews! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story! Sionnain  
**

**Chapter 3**

Unfortunately, things did not get better as the summer progressed.

Kitty and Jubilee were busy with work, and making new friends at their jobs. Rogue couldn't blame them for wanting to exercise their new-found freedoms, but she _did_ miss them. Though she was so mopey lately, she couldn't exactly blame them for not wanting to hang out with her.

At first they'd tried to amuse her with stories about customers, but Rogue didn't like the implication that somehow she was _better off_ not working, and her friends had wisely stopped. It wasn't fair, and Rogue knew that, but she couldn't help feeling left out.

Bobby tried, he did, but he was often busy with the Professor when he wasn't training. He was also very excited about the research, which was nice, but whenever he told her about it, her eyes glazed over. They would laugh about it, and he would hug her and show her how to do unblockable moves in _Soul Caliber 3_.

Something seemed to be missing between them, but Rogue thought maybe it was her. She'd been so withdrawn lately, could she blame him for wanting to play video games rather than talk?

Cyclops led their training, which had increased over the summer. After Jean's death, he was even more determined to make them capable fighters, and everyone understood that. Not to mention, they'd seen the television and the pickets, read about the riots in neighborhoods and schools. This increase in training was sort of a mixed blessing for Rogue. True, she was always in better mood after exercise, and she liked having something to do that was physical, but it was hard to watch the rest of them train _with_ their powers, while she couldn't.

Oh, she'd practice on simulations in the Danger Room, but with her teammates she had to rely mostly on physical skill. Her mutant power was only useful at close-range, and was sort of the "last resort" attack. Everyone else could use theirs—and she had to practice acrobatic-like moves to get out of the way of most everyone else.

They all looks of such _joy_ on their faces, when they used their powers. She understood it, of course. They lived in a society where they were often reviled for having these gifts, so using them freely was probably very liberating.

_I wouldn't know._

Rogue really hated feeling sorry for herself, but it was either that or turn into a grade-A bitch, and she was moody enough lately that such a transformation was absolutely the last thing anyone around the Institute needed. She trained hard, but quietly; she turned away from the others when they laughed and re-hashed their best moments, she read the X-Jet manual at dinner and ignored the rest of them. At first they'd try and cajole her—tell her she'd done well maneuvering through something, praise her handling of the X-Jet—but eventually they just gave up.

Sometimes she'd look up at see Professor Xavier looking at her at dinner, appearing concerned. She would stare at him for a moment, and her eyes would fill up with tears, but she would never say anything. Once when she was leaving the dining room, she heard him in her head;

_If anything is the matter, Rogue, do come and tell me._

She didn't, though. Maybe it was because she hadn't faired so well following the last helpful advice he'd given her, or maybe it was because she was ornery and stubborn, but she couldn't make herself go talk to him. Deep down, though, she was rather expecting him to insist upon it.

He didn't, but one day after a training session when she'd let everyone go out ahead of her, Scott did.

ooooooooOOOOooooooo

"Rogue, I think I know what's the matter."

Rogue sat on a crate in the Danger Room, wondering why they were meeting in here instead of Scott's office. That is, if Scott even _had_ an office. She'd always assumed he did.

"Do you?" She was wearing her uniform, a nice leather outfit that covered her from head to toe. She even had matching leather gloves. Kitty had once joked she should take out stock in Isotoner.

"I know about what happened with the job thing," he said slowly. "I know how that must have felt."

She'd heard that so many times, her automatic response of _I don't think so_ immediately rose to her lips and died there as she realized he, of everyone at the Institute, probably _did_. "Guess you'd have had to check _yes_, too, huh?" She didn't mean to sound unkind, just truthful.

"I would have, yeah. Can you imagine showing up to work in sunglasses every day?" He gave her a small smile. It was sometimes hard to tell with Scott if he meant it, when he smiled at you. Since you couldn't see his eyes and all.

Of course, Scott didn't smile much, not after Alkali.

"You could have worked at the Sunglasses Hut," she joked weakly, and he actually laughed. That made her feel better, somehow.

"Guess so, unless the customer wanted to try mine on, and then ask me how they look," he joked back, and Rogue laughed. It was the first time she'd honestly laughed in days, and it felt good.

"Doesn't it make you mad?" She cocked her head at him thoughtfully.

He snorted. "Of course it does, Rogue. I hate it, just as much as you probably do. And you know, I imagine the worst part is everyone telling you, 'Oh, but you're not dangerous!'" He smiled a little. "Am I right?"

"Yes!" Rogue said eagerly, feeling a bit pleased someone _finally_ understood. "I mean, I _am_ dangerous. Just not, you know. On purpose."

He nodded. "I know. I hated hearing that too, until I realized what they were really saying." He paused for a moment, but she didn't say anything. "They're really saying they trust you, Rogue, not to hurt them. It's an honor, that trust, don't you think?" His voice was very gentle.

For some reason, that made her want to cry.

"Guess so," she whispered, having not thought of it that way before.

"And I know you're upset that you can't work this summer, and that you have to rely on completely different methods of training, but Rogue...you're a part of this team. And...I'd like you to remember that, and start acting like it a bit more."

She hung her head at that, feeling a little ashamed. "I'm trying, I really am. I just...it's so _hard_, because I want to use my powers, too," she blurted out, wincing at how juvenile she sounded.

"I felt the same way, Rogue, when I first came here. Before I got my visor, if I opened my eyes, I could kill people easier than you can." He gave her a rueful sort of smile. "It also didn't help that Jean—even if she _was_ still working on the psychic powers—could use her telekinesis to do mundane things like levitate a can of soda over to the table in the kitchen if we were studying. I couldn't do anything but obliterate the can just by _looking_ at it," he said wryly.

She looked up and smiled, just a little, at that. "I could find the Coke manufacturer and learn the secret formula by touching his hand," she joked.

He laughed again. "There you go. What you have to do, Rogue, is find a way to work with who you are."

That annoyed her again. "Yeah, well, what good is that going to do me if no one else ever lets me have a fair chance at things?" She realized she sounded whiny again, and hated it, but he'd started this little conversation, hadn't he? Besides, it was how she felt, and he at least deserved the truth from her.

"Rogue," Scott said, sounding very tired, "I think you need to admit a few things to yourself, right here, right now. The world is not fair. It will fear you and your abilities. You have to make peace with that, before you can move forward, or you're going to be unhappy and miserable the rest of your life. I don't think you want that."

Rogue looked down at her hands, which were trembling a little. "I think I already know that," she whispered, unable to look at him.

"No," Scott said slowly, "I don't think you do. Look, Rogue. The world isn't an easy place to live in. That's true for anyone, humans, mutants, whatever. You just have to find a place you belong, and find something worth doing with the talents you _do_ have."

"All I'm good at is hurting people," she said, voice thick with emotion. "At least you can do things to help people, with those eyes of yours. I've seen you," she protested, when he went to speak. "I've seen you help people, Mr. Summers, you can't deny it. And when have I ever helped anyone?"

"Maybe you don't help people with your mutant powers, Rogue, but that isn't all there is to you," he said, exasperated. "You're more than just your skin, you know."

"_I_ know that," Rogue snapped, standing up. "No one else will ever see anything else, don't you understand?"

"Oh, more than you think," Scott answered, expelling a breath. "I know, it sucks, okay? No matter how smart, beautiful, kind, whatever you are, all they'll ever see is the deadly skin. You'll have to answer questions for the rest of your life, why you wear so many clothes and always have on gloves. Just like me and the sunglasses."

There was a horrible feeling that her wise teacher, Scott Summers, was about to tell her the equivalent of "Life isn't fair, deal with it." Rogue took a deep breath, thinking very carefully how to answer him. "Don't you wish you'd had another choice? Sometimes? Didn't you want to be something other than a teacher?"

"I'm quite fond of being a teacher," he answered, sounding wounded. "I'd thought I was a good one."

"You _are_," Rogue said hastily. "Don't you wish, though, that you could have been something else? That you didn't have to be the X-Men field leader because you _couldn't do anything else_?"

"Who says I couldn't do anything else?" he challenged, and she heard a little hint of anger seeping into his tone.

She smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "You just did. Isn't that what you meant? _Find a place where you belong..._."

"Rogue, Professor Xavier found me, sheltered me, raised me. I owe him more for that than any piece of machinery on my head that lets me walk around with my eyes open. Do you understand? I belong here not because I'm a mutant, but because I'm a teacher, and because I can help others just like he helped me."

"I didn't say what you did wasn't noble, or didn't mean anything," she explained, wanting him to understand. "It's just...what are we fighting for, Mr. Summers? Aren't we fighting to live in a world where humans and mutants can live together?"

"I like to think we're trying to make the world a better place for everyone, Rogue, humans and mutants alike. Because we're all the same, when it comes down to it." He crossed his arms over his chest, and his voice was even, but somehow she was detecting he was sad.

"But Mr. Summers...what's the point in fighting for something that will never happen?" She looked off towards the wall of the Danger Room, lined with equipment to simulate battle. "We're training for battle, aren't we? Against whom? Magneto and the Brotherhood or humanity?" She laughed bitterly. "Maybe we're fighting the wrong people."

"Rogue, listen to me. When we become adults, we learn there's no easy answers, and that the world isn't all black and white. Yes, we may face threats—human or mutant—as we have in the past. But we have to have something to believe in, don't you see? Or else what is the point?" He was standing close to her, closer than he usually did, and she heard the truth of what he believed ringing in his voice.

"How are you so sure?" she asked, distraught. "Tell me how I can be sure, too. Because I want to. I want to believe, I want to be part of the team." She looked up at him, eyes intent.

"I can't tell you," he said quietly. "You have to figure it out for yourself, Rogue.

That's all I can say, I guess. Just...there is so much more to Marie than just Rogue, all right? Why don't you spend some time developing all those other talents you have?"

She sighed. "I'm trying, Mr. Summers. I really am." Maybe it would fade, in time, this feeling of being left out of things.

"I know," he said, and patted her on the shoulder, very briefly. Knowing Scott, it was more to keep from doing anything that might be improper than to avoid touching her well-covered skin. "Go get changed. Dinner's in an hour. And Rogue...please, feel free to talk to me, okay? I think maybe of anyone here, I might understand what you're going through."

"Okay," she said, unsure if she felt better or worse after this little talk of theirs.

He left her there alone, and Rogue thought for a very long time about what he said. She knew he was right—life wasn't easy, of course, and she didn't expect that one day she'd wake up and there would be peace amongst humans and mutants everywhere.

What she still didn't understand, however, was what could possibly be gained from fighting for something that might never happen? Where was the hope that things might get better? The Professor had it, and Scott seemed to, but...

Did anyone else? Did Kitty think about it, when they practiced? Did Bobby? Was she the only one that thought maybe, just maybe, this was all hopeless? That she'd grow up, and end up teaching just like Mr. Summers, and it would be an endless line of students becoming teachers, on and on?

_No. It'll only be that way for those of us that can't pass. Mutants like Kitty and Bobby will be accepted into society long before mutants like Scott and I ever will._

Sighing, Rogue left the Danger Room and went to the locker rooms, carefully storing her uniform away and heading off to the showers. She stood under the hot water for a long time, thinking. She wasn't happy, and she didn't like to think that about the place that had become her home.

_This is where I belong. This is my family, my friends, my team! I'll just have to find a way to make myself believe, that's all._ Determined, she began scrubbing herself with the loofah, with far more strength than was necessary. She scrubbed at her skin harshly, as if she could wash away all her thoughts of unhappiness and dissension, and emerge some clean and shining example of what an X-Man should be.

_What will you do if you can't, Rogue? Can't believe, can't be one of the team? Run away again?_

"No!" she cried out, at last, leaning her forehead against the tile wall of the shower. The sound echoed oddly in the shower room, and she hoped fervently she was in there alone. "No," she whispered, pushing her hair back off of her face, shaking her head. "I'll just have to make it work. No matter what."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When the idea came to her, she was so terrified that she'd thought it up that she nearly couldn't breathe for a moment. She was lying in the darkness of her bedroom, gripping the sheets tight between the cotton of her gloves, eyes wide as the plan took sudden form in her mind.

_I couldn't...no. That would the be the very worst thing I could do._

She'd really tried after that talk with Mr.Summers. She'd made more of an effort to listen to Bobby talk about his research with the Professor, she'd visited Kitty and Jubilee both at work, she'd gone out to Chili's one night and met them and some of their "work friends" for dessert and coffee. She'd been quiet for most of it, but Rogue wasn't normally garrulous so that wasn't anything new.

Remembering what Mr. Summers had said, she'd called herself "Marie" at dinner. _There's more to Marie than just Rogue._ Though as she sat at the table, letting the conversation flow around her, she wondered if that was true. Sometimes she thought she'd left Marie forever behind in Mississippi, and there was no way to get her back even if she'd wanted to.

As for her training, she worked very hard, but deep down there was still the lingering worry that it was all hopeless. She paid a lot of attention to everyone else; noticed their easy nods to the Professor's lectures, their acquiescence to whatever Mr. Summers asked of them.

There seemed to be no hesitation in any of them, really. They all seemed so _certain_...

Even Logan, who'd left the day before for one of his journey's up North to find out about his past, always came back to the team. She had been thinking of him, remembering him saving her, and she let herself think about being in Magneto's machine on the Statue of Liberty.   
Drowning in his mind, his _certainty_...

_I got that by touching him._

Which meant...

_No. I can't do that. It's a violation of everyone's trust, and I'm not supposed to use my powers to hurt anyone..._

Except that it _wouldn't_ hurt them, not really. Rogue and Bobby had had a few "mistakes" in the past, where she'd held on a bit too long and taken his powers for a moment. It usually just left him a little breathless, but not injured. She always hated to admit it, but she kind of liked it. Not only was using her power a release of some sort, but because in that moment she could feel in her mind impressions of his—how he thought she was pretty, how much he liked her, that sort of thing.

What if it _did_ work? She could just touch them all, just for a moment, and she'd know if it was just her that had all of these doubts.

If it turned out it _was_ just her...well then, maybe if she did it a little bit, for weeks, not taking too much...

Maybe it would be like it was on the Statue of Liberty. Maybe after time she'd have the certainty that she seemed to lack, if they all had it. Then she could train with the others without feeling like the effort was worthless. Then she could truly be one of them, and all of this would _stop_, even if she never got a handle on her powers.

She lost herself for a moment in that fantasy—of having things returned to normal, of being a part of things again—before she forced herself to think realistically.

It was a horrible idea. It was dishonest, and Rogue didn't think of herself as a dishonest person. She stared up at the ceiling, at Kitty's grinning happy face of stars above her, and tried to remind herself of that.

_Remember what happened, though, when you_ were _honest?_ Images of her job hunting experience flashed through her mind.

_No. It doesn't matter. I would be abusing my powers._

The Professor had always made it clear they were to use their powers only for good. Though the little voice in her head pointed out that she wasn't trying to do _evil_, was she? She would only be helping herself, so that she could do the right thing, and didn't the rest of them use their powers in just that way? Outside of the Danger Room? Not to save humanity, or anything so noble, but to just..._do_ stuff, that needed to be done?

Storm used hers to water the grounds when they were in a drought, when the flowers she and Jean had planted looked as if they were going to die. She didn't appear to suffer undo guilt from screwing around with nature, or anything like that. Mr. Wagner used his teleportation to get just about everywhere—from class, to dinner, to training, to getting innumerable Frisbee's and tennis balls off of the roof.

Kitty was constantly opening doors if people locked themselves out of their room, or their car. As for Professor X, he always won in Trivial Pursuit right when it was getting late and no one appeared to be winning, and while he was definitely intelligent, no one was _that_ smart to get four pie pieces in one turn.

Everyone found a way to make their powers a part of their daily lives, in addition to their training as X-Men. So why couldn't she? This was more important, wasn't it, than lighting a candle or retrieving a set of car keys from a locked vehicle? Wouldn't she be more useful to the team if she could just make all this troublesome _worry_ go away?

Somehow, though, she knew deep down inside herself that there was a difference. So her plan remained secret and shameful, and she tried not to think about it too much lest she give in to the temptation to put it in action. It might have remained just that, a temptation, until one night when Rogue finally lost her temper, and with it, her restraint.

It was a Friday night, and Kitty had been scheduled to work until six. She'd promised to pick Rogue up after dinner and take them both to a movie since Jubilee was scheduled until nine, and Rogue had been looking forward to forgetting about things for a couple of hours. Plus, she hadn't seen Kitty in what seemed like weeks; and the time they had spent together was strained at best. Every time Rogue looked at her roommate, she felt vaguely guilty, as if she'd harmed Kitty just by _thinking_ about her idea.

That night Rogue found herself in a good mood at dinner, talking animatedly to Bobby and listening to Mr. Summers make fun of Logan, who admittedly wasn't there to defend himself. Oh, it wasn't malicious mockery (it _was_ Mr. Summers, after all), but it had them all laughing as he described Logan's inability to change tires without accidentally puncturing them in a temper. After dinner she'd gone upstairs, dressed up a bit just for the novelty of doing so, and had even borrowed Kitty's lip gloss and put on a pair of earrings Bobby had bought her for her birthday. She'd gone outside to wait for Kitty, liking the feel of the night air surrounding her as she sat on the steps and waited.

She'd waited until eight-thirty, and then she'd gone inside, directly to her room, and wiped off her lip gloss. Her earrings she returned to the small box on her dresser. At nine thirty, she stopped staring out of the window and picked up a book, of which she managed to read two pages in the span of an hour before giving up and turning off the light.

_She forgot about you. And why shouldn't she? It isn't like you're fun to hang out with. You never were. They probably only tolerated you because you were here. _

Rogue hated thinking things like that, but as she lay there in the dark, she couldn't help herself. It was obvious that once Kitty and Jubilee went off to college, she'd be left here at the Mansion, probably teaching like Mr. Summers and just as alone as he was.

It was an unkind thought, but it was the first of many. By the time Kitty came home, Rogue was still awake, and she had long since given up chastising herself for the multitude of unflattering things she was thinking about everyone in the mansion.

"Rogue? You awake?" Kitty whispered to her, standing next to her bed. Rogue didn't answer, didn't move a muscle, forcing her breathing to remain even and calm. She did so until Kitty finished getting ready for bed and settled down to sleep.

Rogue waited very carefully until her roommate's breathing slowed—Kitty fell asleep faster than anyone she knew--and then slowly she sat up and pushed the covers back.

Rogue stood up and walked across the room, quiet as a ghost, and looked down at the other girl. Kitty liked to sleep in shorts and tank tops, despite the fact she had Rogue for a roommate.

_They don't think you're dangerous because they trust you._

A pang rang through Rogue at that, remembering Mr. Summers' words. Then she remembered sitting and waiting for Kitty outside, remembered being forgotten, and slowly she drew off her glove.

_They trust you, Rogue._

Gritting her teeth, she very gently laid her bare hand on her roommate's upper arm. For a moment there was nothing, then the pull came and she felt herself smiling as the power filled her.

_I like using my power, too._

With the pull came a barrage of memories—folding an endless stack of sweaters, shifting on her feet because they hurt from standing all day. Dealing with a woman trying to return a sweater two sizes too small and wanting cash, even though she didn't have a receipt, trying to be polite before going to get the manager.

The cute guy that worked on the men's clothing side, asking her out that night. Thinking how she'd promised her roommate she'd take her to a movie.

The vaguest hint of guilt because she'd rather go out with Toby. _Rogue's been such a downer, lately, and she'll probably only sigh during the movie and maybe complain and make me sit next to the aisle, and I hate that._

Kitty had called and asked Piotr to leave a message, pretending she had to work late and do inventory. She'd gone out to dinner and to a movie with Toby, instead, and she felt guilty but she was glad she'd done it.

_I'll take Rogue to a movie on Saturday afternoon, when it is less crowded._

Rogue was breathing too fast, staring at Kitty as she stood there with her fingers lightly resting on her friend's arm. She pulled away when Kitty made a small sort of whimper, like she was in pain, and ran into the bathroom.

The door was closed, but that didn't matter, of course. She phased right through it, which would have been amazing at any other time, but now, she hardly noticed that she'd done it.

Rogue stared at herself in the mirror, her heart racing, and tried to calm herself down. _Fine, she lied to you, but you really have been impossible lately, you know, and—_

_No. You're looking for certainty, not excuses for her ditching you. Find it, and let this end._

Unfortunately, she was besieged by very strange worries and fears that she'd never even _thought_ of before. Rogue pressed her shaking fingers to her temple as thoughts raced through her mind with the force and speed of a freight train.

_I wish I was thinner. Toby might have kissed me if I could get my fat ass into that size six. I saw the way Ashley hid a smirk when I had to get an eight in those boot cut khakis. I hate her. I wonder if she knows I heard all about what she did in the stockroom with the regional manager?_

_What if I'm not smart enough to get into a good college? Will I have to stay here and work at Abercrombie with stupid Ashley all the time? Why can't I find something I want to do with my life? How am I supposed to be a college student, and have a career, and be an X-Man? _

Rogue pressed her bare hand to the glass of the mirror, trying to feel the slick surface beneath her hand, trying to come back to herself and make Kitty's thoughts go away. _Rogue. Marie. You're not Kitty. You're Rogue. Make this stop._

One of the problems, however, with never being able to use her powers meant she couldn't learn to _control_ them. She was at the mercy of Kitty's mind at the moment, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

_Rogue's so lucky to have Bobby, I wonder why she doesn't realize that? I wonder if I'll ever have a boyfriend? St. John…why did he have to go be all evil? He was hot. He liked Rogue, I think, didn't he? Maybe I should put a streak in my hair and boys will like me, too. _

With such thoughts came Kitty's unmistakable guilt for thinking such things of her roommate. _I shouldn't think mean thoughts about her, even if she's messy. She's a good person and she's been through so much. What would I have done, if I was strapped in Magneto's machine, or if I had to fly the X-Jet at Alkali? I wish I had been at Alkali, I could have maybe phased through the water, saved Dr. Grey. Will I die, like Dr. Grey?_

Interspersed between all of this were flashes of things Kitty had been doing without her—eating lunch at the mall with Jubilee, going out with friends for ice cream after her shift was over. Rogue didn't want to see that, all she wanted was Kitty's knowledge that despite all of her assorted doubts, she was doing what was right.

"Show me something, please," Rogue whispered, head bowed, seeing the white of her hair in her vision and holding onto the sight, wanting to remember she was herself and not her innocently sleeping roommate. She forced herself to delve once more into the memories, looking for anything to make this all go away, when she came across the one thought that enraged her, made her scramble backwards and nearly fall into the tub in shock.

_I'm glad I don't have Rogue's powers. Those are more like a curse. At least mine are useful. It must suck that no one can ever touch you. I guess I should be grateful my mutation isn't like that._

Slowly, Rogue straightened and pushed her damp hair back off her face. Her eyes were tearful and bright, and her face was flushed with shame and anger. How _dare_ Kitty think that about her? Was their entire friendship based on nothing more than _pity_? It wasn't as if Rogue _herself_ hadn't thought such things about her abilities, but on top of everything else, it just infuriated her further.

She turned and left the room, walking right through the wall, and headed silently down the corridor. She needed to find someone, obviously, who wasn't as close to her so that she was not distracted with such personal thoughts. That ruled out Bobby and Jubilee, of course. Maybe…

She halted in front of Piotr's door, making sure she could still feel the lingering effects of Kitty's powers inside of her, and went inside.

Piotr was asleep on his back with the sheet twisted around him, and Rogue found herself slightly fascinated with the way his body looked in the spill of moonlight coming through the window. Her eyes traveled down his naked chest and lingered on his abdominal muscles, which were pronounced and firm, and she had a sudden desire to pet him.

_Wait. I've never been like this before around him, and he's always hanging out with Bobby….I've seen him working out before without a shirt and didn't want to do anything at all._

Her eyes widened. _Oh._ Kitty, again. Her roommate went for those well-built types, apparently. Carefully, Rogue approached him and placed her hand on his naked shoulder. Her mouth curved up in appreciation as she felt his muscles beneath her hand, and she had to force herself not to let her hand glide lower to his stomach.

_Focus! I'm not here to ogle Piotr. Kitty can stare at him during training all she wants._

His strength rushed into her, his mind, and Rogue stood there as it filled her, driving Kitty back and away. His thoughts were different, heavier, and there was a lingering sense of worry and sadness that Rogue recognized all too well.

_He'll know, if I don't stop staring at him. How am I supposed to be like this and not let anyone know?_

_I'm so happy to be here, but I can't live a lie anymore. What'll they do if I tell them? Will they still be my friends? When they found out I was a mutant, I had to leave my home…will that happen here, too?_

Flashes of him playing video games with Bobby, staring at him when he didn't think the other boy noticed. Eyes traveling down his lanky form, ashamed, but unable to stop, because….

_How can I be an X-Man? They will never accept me, never, not if they knew that. I just want to be part of the team. _

"No," Rogue whispered, anguished. This wasn't…this wasn't how it was supposed to be, not at all! She wasn't finding certainty, and she couldn't…there was _no way_ she could try this on everyone, and she was pushing the boundaries even now by being in his room. Sooner or later, someone would wake up.

Not to mention, Professor Xavier would wake up, and he would…Rogue didn't want to think about what he would do to her if he found out what she was doing.

"Give me something," she hissed, tightening her hand on his arm. He made a sound like he was choking, but Rogue didn't stop. "Show me how you do it, then!" Piotr was one of the most disciplined and committed students at the Institute. How did he manage to be that way, with all of that _doubt_ inside of him?

_I will do whatever I have to so that they keep me here. If that means they never know, never find out about me and…then that is how it will be. This means everything, and I have to make it work…they saved me, took me in._

"How, how do you do it…" she was sobbing, but there were so many other things confusing her now. She tore out of his room like a tornado, pushing the door too hard without understanding her newfound strength, ripping it off its hinges.

_One person. I just need one person who believes, please…_

Her head was full of madness, of doubts and fears not her own, and it was a thousand times worse than when it was just _her_ thinking these things. She knew that unless she found something, someone, who _believed_….

_I'll drown in their thoughts. I can't live with all of it. Not mine, and theirs too…_ She made a sound of pure anguish, and had to stop for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Rogue? Are you—are you okay?" The quiet, hesitantly spoken words startled her, and as her vision cleared she saw the young girl in the middle of the hallway, looking at her worriedly.

Rahne Sinclair was a few years younger than Rogue, and could turn into a wolf. Right now, though, she was a confused kid looking back and forth from Rogue to the mangled door leading into Piotr's room.

"N-Nothing is the matter, Rahne," Rogue said carefully, eyeing the younger girl warily.

"Um, then what'd you do to Piotr's door?" The girl wasn't moving out of her way, and Rogue was becoming agitated and she didn't know what to do.

_Have to go. Piotr will be after me, he'll be mad…._ She couldn't explain all this to Rahne, she needed to get away _now_…

She hated to do it, but she reached out with the hand that was still covered by cotton and shoved Rahne out of the way, intending only to make her move so she could continue her progress down the hallway. In her human form, however, Rahne was tiny—barely five feet tall, and ninety pounds soaking wet—and the younger girl went flying backwards and hit the wall when Rogue pushed her, unaware that with her strength she had to be careful when doing things like that. The girl made a sound of pain and collapsed, motionless, on the floor.

Rogue moved towards Rahne, feeling helpless. _Oh, no, what have I done…_

"Rogue?" Piotr spoke from the doorway of his room, finally awake, voice very hesitant. "Is something the matter?"

She turned to look at him, standing there in pajama pants and no shirt, confused and swaying a bit on his feet. She'd held on to him a long time, too long, maybe. _All I do is hurt people._

"Rogue, what have you…" His eyes widened as he saw Rahne.

"I'm—" she shook her head desperately, and when he took a step towards her, she panicked and took off at a run. "Get someone to look after her!" she called wildly.

_I need to find someone. Someone who believes, someone who doesn't have any doubts…_

She figured it out, finally, and turned towards the staff wing. _Mr. Summers._

When she arrived at his room, she had to open the door, and she did so very carefully so as not to repeat the debacle with Piotr's door. His drapes were closed over the window, making the room very dark. She stood silhouetted in the light from the hallway for just a moment, then stepped inside his room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

_Rogue. Stop this right now._

The Professor, his voice in her mind. So he knew what she was doing, even if he was nowhere to be seen. She was a little surprised it had taken him this long.

_No, I can't. Not yet._ She walked towards the bed on silent feet, trembling, exhausted but determined.

_Come out right now, and we'll talk about this. I can help you, Rogue._

_No. _You_ can't. But Mr. Summers…_ her thoughts trailed off as she stood beside her teacher, looking down at him as he slept. She wondered if he dreamed in red, since that was how he must see everything. Maybe she'd find out, when she had his mind in hers.

_Rogue, listen to me. You're the only one who can make this stop. No one else can give you what you want, and you'll hurt him, if you do this. You've hurt Rahne, do you know that? Please, Rogue, come out and stop this madness._

"I'm sorry," Rogue whispered, and though she meant that with every fiber of her being, she didn't listen. The Professor's voice faded from her mind as she reached down towards Mr. Summers' face, the only bare spot of skin she could see.

He awoke before she touched him, sitting up in bed and avoiding her hesitant touch.

"Stop," he said sternly, and she knew the Professor was communicating with him, telling him what she had done, what she was going to do. "This isn't the way, Rogue. You need to stop."

"Please," she whispered, reaching a hand out towards him. He stood up and moved away from her, putting the bed between them. "I just need—you're so sure, you're so certain, and I just can't take it anymore…"

"No. I won't let you do this to me." His hand went up, touched his visor. "Don't make me do this, Rogue. I don't want to hurt you."

She pulled off her other glove so that both her hands were bare. "It won't hurt," she promised him, figuring she needed to catch him off guard. He'd trained her well, and Rogue could move fast, thanks to all the physical training she'd had.

"Marie—listen to me. This isn't the way, and you know it." His voice was very calm, like he was lecturing her. "I know you don't mean this, I know you're just upset. I understand, and I want to help you."

At that, Rogue actually smiled. "You _are_ going to help me,' she assured him, and then she moved, intending to jump over the bed and trap him against the wall.

The moment she tried, however, she found herself suspended in the air, which was an incredibly disconcerting sensation.

"I will not allow this, Rogue, and I've given you a chance to stop," a voice said sternly. "Sleep."

The Professor. She barely had to recognize the voice from the doorway before blackness descended, and she knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

When she woke up, she forgot for a moment what had happened.

She was lying in a bed that wasn't hers, and it was very quiet. Her head felt crowded with the remnants of too many thoughts that weren't her own. It felt like what had happened after Liberty Island, when she'd had a strong desire to either rip apart the infirmary (presumably Magneto, since he'd obviously failed in his plan) or hit someone really, really hard (presumably Logan). Magneto's ire and Logan's violent memories of his past made her a bit frantic and...unpleasant, really, to be around.

Voices were murmuring in the darkness, and she recognized them as Mr. Summers and the Professor. Rogue kept her eyes closed and didn't move, not wanting to alert them that she'd woken. It would be best if they thought she was asleep, until she knew more of what was going to happen as a result of her failed experiment.

"How's Rahne?" Mr. Summers—he sounded exhausted, tense, and she felt guilty knowing she was the one who made him sound that way.

"She's in critical condition; her head hit the wall rather hard and she's suffering from a concussion. We'll know more in a few hours, though I shall go down to the infirmary myself here in a little while and have a look at her." Rogue felt her heart nearly stop at the Professor's words. Had she inadvertently killed Rahne, injured her past all hope of recovery?

"What about Rogue?"

There was a long moment of silence before the Professor spoke, and Rogue wondered if he was trying to sense whether or not she was awake. She let the tide of other people's memories swell gently for a moment, hiding beneath them so that he might not know she was aware of what he was saying.

"She's a danger to herself, to everyone here. I can no longer pretend that she's not, as much as I feel for her." He sighed. "I'm afraid this sort of thing will happen again, and I cannot risk the safety of my students—or my staff."

"So you're sending her away?" Mr. Summers sounded resigned; it saddened her, a little, to think they would so easily let her go.

_What have you done to deserve anything else?_ Self-loathing made her slightly nauseous, and she swallowed the bitter taste of it rising in her throat.

"No. I'm going to...erase this from her mind, most likely. I think it best for everyone if Rogue awakens without remembering what has happened." He paused. "I am wondering if perhaps I should erase her mind entirely and move her somewhere that would be...aware of her mutation. I'm not sure Rogue will emotionally recover from this, and she clearly cannot stay here."

Rogue was so shocked she had to force herself to remain buried beneath the others in her mind, so that he didn't know she was hearing him, didn't know she was aware he was planning on erasing her mind and locking her up in some _room_ for the rest of her _life_.

"You can't—Professor, is that entirely ethical?"

_No!_

"Scott, my first priority, as you know, is the students. I cannot allow a threat to remain among them, even if that threat _is_ one of them."

The Professor continued speaking, his voice tight, and Rogue wondered if he knew she was awake.

"If she is not contained she could become a liability. I do not like this anymore than you do. What am I to do? Rogue attacked a student. She drained two more of their powers, and she went after _you_, a teacher. Do you think she'll wake up, apologize, and have that be the end of it?"

"Maybe she will," Mr. Summers protested, though it sounded weak even to her. "Maybe she'll shape up, after this."

"Are you willing to bet the life of every student here on that thought? Your fellow teachers?" The Professor asked, voice very soft.

"No," Mr. Summers said, sounding defeated. "I'm not. When will you—how will we do this? So that the others don't know? If you decide to do it, that is."

"I'll merely tell them that after her attack, her mind suffered a breakdown and she had to be moved elsewhere. She'll be taken care of, Scott, I promise you. In time, perhaps..." his voice trailed off.

Rogue struggled to keep her breathing even, though it was difficult. Part of her wanted to sit up in the bed and scream at them both. _You have no right to do this to me._

"Perhaps we should go and check on Rahne. I'll be able to make a decision regarding Rogue once I see how badly she's been hurt."

She remained still until she heard the door close behind them, and she waited a few moments before carefully opening her eyes to scan the room. She sat up and looked around, at sea, her mind racing with what she'd heard.

If she'd understood correctly, the Professor planned to either erase her memory of last night's events—she assumed it was the next day, anyway—which wasn't in theory a bad idea, except that the memory in question was _hers_. Or, if Rahne was seriously injured, then he would erase her mind _entirely_ and pack her off to the asylum.

Obviously the first option was better, but was she just going to wait around and hope for the best? No, she needed to get out, and _fast_.

She took a deep breath and stood up on shaking legs, moving towards the door and opening it very slowly. The hallway was silent and empty, and carefully she began making her way towards the student wing.

Every noise she heard scared her, made her think it was the Professor. She hoped that if the Professor was indeed examining Rahne as he'd said, that he wouldn't notice her creeping towards her room, preparing to run away, because he'd be too focused on the younger girl.

She arrived at her room without incident, which was a blessing, and she prayed Kitty wasn't in there waiting to confront her about what had happened. A cursory glance showed her the room was empty; she pulled the door shut behind her and moved quickly to lock it behind her. She scrambled to find her bag in the back of her closet, with shoes and purses and a million other things stacked on top of it.

She packed furiously, remembering how she'd done this the night she'd left Mississippi. _I'm destined to run away from everywhere, I guess._ She left everything she didn't absolutely need, including the small teddy bear Bobby had given her that she always slept with. Her eyes filled up with tears as she looked at it, but she dashed them away with the back of her hand.

_Get out. Have to get out. If I stay I can keep the bear, but I might not remember Bobby._

When she was ready to go, she shoved all the money she had in her bag. She thought for a moment about leaving her roommate a note.

There were so many things she wished she could say—not all of them nice—but it would take far too long to write them all down and she had already taken far too long in packing.

In the end she grabbed Kitty's pink matte lipstick and wrote a message on the other girl's mirror; _I'm sorry._

She stared at it for a moment, then her eyes strayed to the picture on Kitty's dresser. Within the cute beaded frame was a picture of her and Rogue, smiling, the lake behind them flanked by trees brilliant with autumn colors. She touched the frame lightly.

_Don't have time for this. Get going._

With that thought, she found the fire ladder they were all required to keep under their beds. Periodically they went through the drill; open the windows, climb down, meet in the front of the mansion. No matter how many excuses people attempted to give as why they should be spared from this exercise ("I can control fire!" "I can freeze it!"), everyone's participation was required. Therefore, Rogue knew exactly what to do.

She opened the window and tossed the rope ladder out, then hefted her bag over her shoulder. She climbed down with quick, even steps, just as she'd done during practice. When her feet touched the ground, she spared one final glance to the place that had been her home before she turned her back and ran, finally allowing herself to cry as she did so.

Rogue expected them to follow her. They didn't. She wasn't sure if this was because no one knew she was gone, or if they had just decided to let her go.

She stood on the side of the road, her thumb out, almost expecting Mr. Summers to pull up in his car and demand she get back inside. She allowed herself a brief fantasy in which Logan showed up and took her away with him, but that fantasy died rather quickly, along with every single other hope she'd ever had when she'd showed up at Xavier's.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

The town where she stopped running for a bit was Lewiston, Maine.

She'd been able to hitchhike most of the way, though she'd finally used some of her money to take a bus into the town. She didn't know why Maine had seemed a good place, other than she still had vague dreams of going up to Canada.

_I want to live somewhere cold, so I can wear gloves all the time and no one asks me why._

Besides, she was tired and wanted to sleep in a bed for a night instead of the passenger seat of a truck. Constantly wary of those who consented to give her a ride, she didn't sleep much. Surely it wouldn't be too terribly awful to spend a little of her money on a hotel room for a few nights, to regroup?

When she arrived, she checked into a cheap motel and went across the street to the diner to find something to eat. She had a cup of coffee and a sandwich, nervously looking over her shoulder each time the bell rang to signal the door had opened, still convinced they were searching for her.

She'd been vigilant on her flight, constantly keeping her eyes open for anyone that might have been sent to find her. Some part of her wondered if the Professor had chosen to wipe his hands of her, and if so, she vowed she'd stay hidden long enough that she could blend in with the rest of humanity. If she never used her powers again, maybe he'd just leave her—and her memories—alone.

After two days of sleeping nearly twelve hours straight, she was preparing to head back out on the road when something unexpected happen—Rogue got a job. She was having lunch in the diner on the day one of the waitresses quit and ran off with the fry cook. Rogue knew an opportunity when she saw one, and she was nearly out of money after splurging on the hotel and diner food. So she smiled and said she sure could use a job and she was a fast learner, and if they would let her try her hand at being a waitress, they didn't even have to pay her the first week.

They didn't even make her fill out an application. She was glad of that, though she'd already decided if that question showed up, she was checking _no_.

There was a freedom in being someone new, someone different, though it was quite an adjustment living in a motel after residing in a mansion. The walls in her room were paper thin, the shower leaked, and the night manager always gave her an oily sort of smile when he saw her coming home from work. Not to mention, she went through a lot of gloves because she was always spilling food on them in her new line of work.

It wasn't _all_ awful, though. The people at the diner were nice, for the most part, and they were convinced the well-spoken young Rogue—who went by the name Anna Marie—had some dreadful secret in her past that made her very, very interesting. They were all convinced she was suffering from a love affair gone wrong, which was fine with her, because the truth was way more complicated, and would anyone believe it?

_I'm a mutant, and I used my powers at my mutant school, and the telepath threatened to erase my mind and lock me up in a facility so I ran away live somewhere cold where I have to wear a lot of clothes, and ended up here because I got tired of sleeping in trucks._

No, let them think she was a spurned lover. She'd rather think that on most days, too, except that she still cried when she thought about Bobby and wished she'd taken the teddy bear after all.

Shawna, one of the other waitresses, was always asking her if she felt sick in the mornings. Rogue would shake her head and pretend to look innocent, though she did wonder if maybe she'd get more tips if she stuck one of her pillows underneath her shirt.

The stop in Lewiston was supposed to be temporary, but as she fell into a routine and became used to her new life, she wondered if maybe things weren't as hopeless as she had thought that first night in the motel. Maybe she could work and make enough money to find a little apartment, maybe she could take some college classes in the winter. Maybe she could show the Professor he'd been wrong about her, after all...

_Do I even want that? Do I ever want them to know anything about me?_

Then there were nights she'd think it was hopeless, and she would lie in the darkened room listening to the sounds coming through the wall next to her (Rogue's neighbor was a prostitute; she was nice, but she always looked very sleepy in the mornings when Rogue saw her at the vending machines), wondering if maybe she just should have waited to see what happened to Rahne, if maybe it could have all been smoothed over and she wouldn't be shivering at night under the paper-thin hotel comforter that smelled like cigarettes.

Then she would think about having her memory stolen from her like it had never been, and the terror from that gave her the strength to face herself in the morning and put on her uniform to go to work.

_I guess I finally got some job experience, after all._

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

One night she was working the late shift, which she liked the best, when the dishwasher, a young man named Troy, asked her out.

Rogue was sitting at the counter, working a crossword puzzle (she missed mental exercises, though being on her feet was surprisingly good physical activity), when he appeared out of the kitchen with his towel slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Anna Marie. Wondering if you maybe wanted to catch a movie and dinner or something." He smiled at her and leaned indolently over the counter, lighting a cigarette. She tried not to wince as the smell drifted under her nose.

Rogue had thought wildly about what to say. She liked Troy fine, but she wasn't overly interested in making friends—that would only complicate things. Not to mention, it was important no one knew she was a mutant. She already had to answer a lot of questions: why she had to wear gloves ("skin condition,") why her hair had that streak (which was harder to explain, really, than being a mutant. Normal people just didn't understand diabolical plots involving death machines, she was guessing. She just said it was genetic), or why she lived in a motel.

Troy didn't seem to care about any of this, either her made-up skin condition or the rumors she'd be having a baby in nine months (those had faded as she'd never appeared pregnant, though if she didn't stop eating apple pie after every shift, they might start back up again). Sometimes when she worked the night shift and they were slow, he'd tell her how he wanted to go to community college and be a mechanic one day. Mostly, he just talked about himself.

"Kinda late tonight for that, Troy, ain't it?" She smiled at him, but it was guarded, as all her smiles were of late. He was a nice enough looking boy, she supposed, though not really her type. She didn't usually go for the dark-haired smoldering types.

_Except for Logan, that is. And see how well that worked out._

"I meant like...next time you weren't working late shift. What about Sunday?"

He had nice arm muscles, and smelled like dish detergent. Which was, Rogue figured, nicer than some things he could smell like working back in the kitchen.

"Um...dinner sounds good," she said, surprising herself. "But maybe not a movie. I don't have a lot of money." Which was true—living in a motel was not as cheap as it seemed, and she did not want to have to get another job.

She thought about her neighbor at the motel and blushed. Certainly not _that_ job, as that would result in more dead bodies than extra income.

"Don't worry, Anna Marie, I'll pay for that." He gave her an easy smile, and she noticed he had a crooked front tooth. "What do you say?"

She looked around, then shrugged. "Sure. That sounds nice. Want me to meet you here?"

"Diner's closed on Sunday's," he reminded her, "After lunch. Remember?"

She rolled her eyes and put her crossword away as a customer came into the diner, pulling out her little pad of paper. "Yeah. But I live close, and I have a key." She only had they key because sometimes she had to open the restaurant before the owner, Dottie, arrived, but it made her feel nice that someone had trusted her enough to give her one. "But I'll just wait for you out front."

"Okay," he said, then winked at her and sauntered back into the kitchen. Though she wasn't terribly excited about her upcoming date, it was nice to think she would be able to eat a meal that wasn't at the diner (she was getting sick of the little pre-packaged salads and BLTs, the healthiest option there, sadly enough), and it had been forever since she'd seen a movie.

She thought about Kitty, of course, and pushed that thought out of her mind. It was time to stop dwelling on all that had happened. If she wanted any chance of happiness, she was going to have to learn to live like a human and pretend she really did just have a skin condition.

She went up to her customer, who barely spared her a look before ordering the breakfast special that Rogue privately dubbed the Cholesterol Killer, and went about her work. When she took the trucker's plate back to the kitchen when he was finished (he'd tipped her three dollars, which was nice), Troy's hands moved over her gloves gently, and Rogue felt the vaguest stirring of unease.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

It was starting to look like she'd been stood up.

At nearly a quarter of seven the following Sunday, Rogue waited in the dark parking lot of the diner, wondering if maybe people just abhorred the idea of going to movies with her. She was hungry and nervous, and she was wearing the nicest pair of jeans she had and had even splurged at Walgreens for some lip gloss.

_Haven't you learned to stop dressing up for movies?_

It wasn't that she had been all that interested in Troy, it was just that...well, how many times was this going to happen to her, never being important enough to remember? At seven thirty, she let herself into the restaurant, thinking she'd grab Troy's phone number off the employee list in the break room and call him.

After all, maybe if she'd just done that with Kitty...

The diner was quiet and dark, and she didn't bother to flip the lights on as she made her way by memory to the back. It was sad that she'd been here almost eight weeks, and already the place was familiar enough to traverse in the dark.

She found his number on the sheet and dialed on the phone in the office, but no one answered. Sighing, she placed the phone back in the cradle and turned to leave. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck, though, as she heard a noise and realized she wasn't alone.

"Hello?" Rogue slowly drew off her glove, walking through the darkened kitchen, her eyes darting back and forth. "Anyone there?" Her heart was pounding, and all she could think was they'd found her, they'd come at last, they were going to erase her brain after all...

"Hey, Anna Marie."

Relief surged through her. "Oh. Troy. Sorry, I was just getting worried so I came in to call you." Her eyes furrowed as she saw him, standing there in the darkness, blocking her path out of the kitchen. He must have followed her in, as she hadn't locked the door behind her, intending to use the phone and go back outside.

_Stupid. Should always lock the door behind you when you're alone._

"Is um...is everything okay?" She left her glove off, flexing her bare fingers nervously.

"Yeah. Just thought maybe we'd do something else, instead of going to dinner." He moved closer, and she backed up instinctively.

"Uh...okay," she said, chewing on her bottom lip. She _was_ hungry, though and wondered if maybe "something else" included dinner. Though she was beginning to think going out with him was a bad idea.

"Figured I didn't need to pay for it," he said smugly, and she had no idea what that meant at all until he lunged at her, pushing her back against the stainless steel cooler, and then when he pinned her arms and leaned down to kiss her, she understood what he intended to take.

She twisted her head away from him, and said very carefully, "You don't want to do this." Her voice was shaking with both anger and fear, but it was very firm.

"Oh, yeah I do," he said, and he smelled like detergent and fabric softener, which suddenly made her ill because those were supposed to be _nice_ things.

"Easy enough to do it without spending any money. What are you going to do, go to the cops?" He chuckled and began pulling on her clothes. "Girls who live in motels don't want the cops to find them."

"If you touch me, you will be very, very hurt," she said, trembling from fear, unable to believe she had been so _stupid_ to trust anyone ever again. "So you need to get off me and let me go."

"Uh huh. Look. I don't have to kiss you, but you better--" his hands grabbed at her breasts beneath her shirt, the nice shirt she'd washed in the sink just for this-- "just not bite me." His hands on her body made want to vomit.

"Oh, I won't bite you," she hissed, and raised her bare hand to his face just as he yanked at her jeans. "Promise."

She didn't really want him in her head, but it was the easiest way to get him off of her, since he wouldn't be expecting what would happen. The best rule of self-defense, the surprise attack. Her fingers dug into his cheeks, clean-shaven beneath her palm, and she waited for the pull.

Rogue suffered under the knowledge that he'd wanted nothing more than to rape her and leave her broken in the floor of the diner, that he'd done it to Shawna one night but Shawna had never told anyone because she was married and her husband was jealous, that he thought Rogue was weak and an easy target.

"What the hell...you're a _mutie_ or something, aren't you!" He looked at her accusingly as he stumbled backwards, and Rogue gave a rough laugh at that, flexing her hand.

"Yeah, genius. And you're a rapist." With that, she reached out and grabbed a cast iron pan hanging next to the stove (only way to cook eggs, Dottie was always saying), and brought it across the side of his head.

He crumpled to the floor without a sound, and Rogue ran into the dining room and reached for the switches, flooding the area with light so bright it hurt her eyes. Unsure what to do, she picked up the phone next to the cash register and called Dottie.

"I'm in trouble," she whispered, when Dottie answered, and started to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dottie didn't believe her.

She tried to explain to her boss why Troy was sprawled on the floor in the back, holding his head in his hand and muttering. Unfortunately, once Troy had informed Dottie that Rogue was a mutant, her boss wasn't all that interested in hearing her side of the story.

_I should have hit him harder, so he couldn't say anything at all._

"Anna Marie…is what he saying…_true_?" Dottie gazed at her with wide eyes, looking down at Rogue's gloved hands. "Are you really…" she let her voice trail off, sounding as breathless as her favorite television soap opera star that she watched during her breaks in the back. "One of _them?_"

Troy was smirking at her, though every time Dottie looked over at him he moaned and held the ice pack to his head. Rogue hated him so much right then that she wanted to tell him she knew all about what he'd done on the bus in the fourth grade, and then laugh at him for having wet the bed until he was twelve. Then, she would hit him with every piece of cookware in the diner and _laugh_.

She had called Dottie because she was wary of the police becoming involved, and she was hopeful that Dottie would just fire Troy and then Rogue could pretend it had never happened, could get back to the—if not enjoyable, at least dependable—routine she'd established these last few weeks. Unfortunately, Troy had informed Dottie that Rogue was a mutant before any firing could commence, and that had thrown a kink into her plan.

"Yes," Rogue snapped, annoyed, her temper frayed like the edges of the vinyl seats in the booths lining the windows. "I am, but he still tried to _rape me_," she reminded her, arms crossed protectively over her chest. "Don't you care about that?"

"Why didn't you call the cops, if I tried to rape you? Afraid they'll throw your mutie ass in jail?" Troy piped up, and she wondered how she even _considered_ going out with such a vile, horrible creature?

"I—" she faltered, unsure what to say. _I don't want anyone to know I used mutant powers on you because I don't want Professor Xavier to find me. _

"Yeah," he muttered, triumphant. "Because you're lying."

"No, I'm not! Dottie," she said desperately, ignoring her assailant. "I can't work with him here. I don't want him to go to jail, but can you just…" she waved one black-gloved hand, resisting the urge to draw it across her throat for emphasis. "Fire him or something?"

Dottie stared up at the ceiling, white tiles stained from years of smoke and water damage, ignoring Rogue. "I just can't believe Troy would do something like that."

Incredulous, Rogue stared at her. "He _did_, Dottie. Why would I lie about that?" She resisted the urge to repeat her cast iron skillet attack on her boss, though it was a pleasant image.

_When did I get so violent?_

"I didn't try and rape you," Troy spoke up, his voice sounding amused. "Tell the truth. You were going to rob the place, weren't you? And I showed up and stopped you, and you hit me with a frying pan."

Rogue turned to face him, fingers curling into her palm to keep from tearing his hair out. "Why would I call Dottie, then?"

He slowly lowered the ice pack and looked over at Dottie. " You're not going to take the word of some…_mutant_…over mine, are you?"

Dottie looked between them both; Rogue's tear-stained face, Troy with a vicious bruise on his head, and then her eyes settled on Rogue's hands, one of which was still bare. "Troy, you get on home now. You have to open tomorrow—don't want you to be late."

He slid off the counter and smiled at the older woman. "Sure thing." He winked at Rogue, and she could have sworn she heard herself growl at him as he waggled his eyebrows and left the diner.

_Has the world gone mad?_

Rogue tried to reason with Dottie. Nothing seemed to matter—the other women mumbled something about "workplace safety" and put the counter between her and Rogue. "Just think maybe you should move on," Dottie said, and Rogue saw she was holding the phone in a death grip. "Don't want me to call the cops, do you?"

"Dottie, please, I didn't _do_ anything," Rogue said heatedly. "Don't you understand? He was going to _rape me_!"

Dottie looked up at that, her face unkind. "Why were you in here, then? No, you were trying to rob me, just like Troy said." She nodded, her voice becoming firm. "How am I supposed to make a living if I got some freak working here, trying to steal from me and lying about it? You just…you just go on and get out," she said again. She waved her hand back and forth, and then to Rogue's horror, said firmly, "Shoo."

Hatred flared inside of her so strong, she thought her eyes must be burning with it. "Give me my last paycheck, then," she said slowly, walking towards the other woman.

Dottie raised the phone, tacky chipped painted nails adorning chubby fingers wrapped around the receiver. "After what you tried to do? Don't think so. Get out. Don't make me call the cops. Or animal control…"

_Animal...!_ Rogue glared fiercely at the woman, the anger taking away her ability to speak, then dug in her pocked for the key to the diner. She was tempted to keep it and come back to torch the place later.

_Where the hell is Pyro when you need him?_

She took two steps toward the counter, the key in her palm, intending to smack it down on the counter and leave. Dottie made a sound that reminded Rogue of a terrified puppy, and shrieked, "Get _out_! I will call the police, you little thief, if you don't leave right now!"

Rogue opened her hand and let the key drop to the floor. Without another word, she turned and left the diner, listening to the little bell chime merrily as she left.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo 

Unfortunately, Rogue had an unpleasant surprise awaiting when she returned to her motel room.

She'd gone on a walk, too upset to think straight, but it had started raining after she'd gone a few blocks. She'd had to walk home through the worst of the downpour and was freezing as she made her way towards her room. She'd have a shower and then figure out where to go looking for a new job.

The motel manager, the one with the oily smile, accosted her as she passed the office. "Ah, Miss Anna Marie. Got a call from Dottie over at the diner. Going to need you to pack up and get out," he said bluntly.

Rogue focused on the man's face though the rain. "I—what? I know I don't have a job, but I'll get another one. Besides, I paid up through the month, remember?"

"Yeah, well, I got the right to terminate our…arrangement…if I find out I'm harboring dangerous criminals or the like. Dottie over at the diner says you're some kind of mutant thief."

Rogue gritted her teeth, fishing for her room key in her pocket. "I'm not a thief," she began hotly, then gave up. He was no more inclined to believe her than Dottie had been, she could tell by the look on his face. "Fine. Give me my money back, and I'll be gone in the morning." She fit the key into the ancient lock, pulling up and twisting the knob to the right, the motion almost a habit after two months.

"You make sure you're gone before I get here tomorrow at five." His voice was flat, unfriendly.

"Yeah. Give me what I paid for the rest of the month, and you'll never see me again." She shoved the door open, blocked it with her body. No way was he following her inside.

"I'll have the guy in the morning give it to you. You been payin' me with stolen money, girl? Wouldn't put it past you." His oily smile was replaced by a look of pure venom, and Rogue wondered what she—or any mutant, really—had ever done to make this man hate her so much. Rogue didn't dignify that with an answer. She opened the door to her room and left him out there, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. Through the walls, she could hear the bedsprings squeak as her neighbor started her night's work.

_Whores, welcome. Mutants, no vacancy._

She was wet, exhausted, and utterly miserable. Not to mention unemployed and evicted. _All because I tried to defend myself from a rapist?_

In order to stop the annoying sounds from next door—really, did the woman _have_ to make those annoying high-pitched moans?—Rogue reached out and turned the television on as she walked into the bathroom.

She barely heard what the newscaster was saying, instead focusing on how dreadful she looked in the mirror, until her ears caught the word mutant.

_Great, did Dottie call the local news station?_

"Responsibility for today's attack was claimed by the terrorist group known as the Brotherhood of Mutants. The group, which espouses claims of mutant superiority, is known for violent attacks against humans the globe over."

Rogue walked into the bedroom, and sat down on the comforter, heedless of the fact she was soaking wet. Her eyes were glued to the screen, on which she saw a very familiar face as the newscaster continued speaking over the image of Erik Lehnsherr. 

"The leader of the Brotherhood, the mutant terrorist known as Magneto, says that such actions will continue until _homo sapiens_ submits to the leadership of _homo superior_ in accordance with evolutionary necessity."

Rogue stared at Magneto, who looked just as she remembered from Alkali; eyes cold and pitiless, face serious and intent.

She wondered if he was watching the news, if he heard the thread of distaste in the newscaster's smooth, practiced voice.

She listened to the details on the attack, and wondered if Pyro was involved, if he felt guilty. The news said four people had died, and that three more were in critical condition.

Rogue thought about the diner, about what happened to her there. She thought about Troy, his hands rough on her body, how he'd been whistling when he'd walked out of the restaurant. About Dottie shooing her away like Rogue was some sort of rabid dog.

She stripped the sodden fabric of her gloves from her hands and wondered if maybe she'd been thinking about things the wrong way.

_I've always protected others from me. I've always tried to keep from hurting anyone. I've always believed that it's never right to hurt anyone else. And where does this get me? Kicked out of a sleazy motel, good enough for a whore but not a mutant. Fired from a job that employs a rapist, just because I tried to stop a man from violating me in the kitchen in the easiest way I knew how._

She remembered Magneto in the boat to Liberty Island. _There is no land of tolerance. _

He was probably right.

There was something about admitting it that scared her far more than anything the Professor had planned to do to her, more than what had happened to her tonight. _What am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go?_ Rogue looked down at her hands, which were very pale and soft, too frightened and angry to even cry.

_I didn't ask for any of this. I was just born this way. It doesn't matter. No one will ever…it will always be my fault. I'll always be judged guilty, just as soon as they find out what I am. And they'll find out. There's no way I can hide forever._

Eventually she rose from the bed and went to shower, the water as hot as she could make it, as if she could burn away her poisoned skin. That night, she dreamt of a long wooden pier stretching far out into the sea, the only light coming from a single light mounted on a narrow metal pole. Everything beyond the pier was darkness.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

In the morning, she lay in bed and wondered what she should do.

There was no question that she had to leave Lewiston. She'd have to hitchhike again, make her way up to Canada, as she'd been planning all along.

_What are you going to do when you get there? Get a job? Not likely. You have some experience now, but what if they call for references?_

Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block out the reality her life had become. The minute her eyes closed, she saw the image from her dream again—the pier, the metal lamp post, the darkness of the endless sea.

_If this is some metaphor about my life, I'm going to kick something._

The sound of a knock pulled her back to the present, and Rogue threw the covers back and padded over to the door. She peeked out of the peephole to find her neighbor, wearing a pink cotton robe and yawning. Rogue undid the numerous locks on the door and opened it a crack. "Hi?"

Up close, the woman didn't look that much older than Rogue. "Hi. I went to pay my bill this morning, and um…the manager asked me to give you this." She held out her hand, a white envelope with "Room 101" written on it in black ink. 

Rogue reached down and took the envelope, which was presumably her cash. "Thanks," she said gruffly, relieved she at least had that little bit of money. At least she wouldn't starve. 

"Hey, um…are you in trouble or something? I heard…well, I heard last night," she said slowly, shifting on her feet, though she didn't look away as Rogue expected. "What the manager said. About—about you. Being a mutant."

"Aren't you going to throw something at me and run away in terror?" Rogue asked, hating the bitterly amused sound of her own voice.

The woman shrugged. "Honey, I'm a hooker. You think I'm going to judge you?"

Rogue remembered what she'd thought last night, about how the manager didn't mind hookers but hated mutants. _As if she's somehow less than you._ It made her feel a little guilty. "I guess…I guess not."

"You leaving today?" 

Rogue nodded, opening the door a little wider. "Yeah. I'm—going to head up to Canada, I guess."

The other woman nodded, pulling the robe tighter around her. "They got better laws about mutants and stuff up there?"

"I doubt it," Rogue said wryly. "I just…I don't know where else to go." 

"Oh. Well, good luck." She yawned again. "You were a nice neighbor. Better than the dealer who was here before you." 

Rogue smiled at that. "I'm, um, glad to hear it." She stepped back into her room, hand tight around her money. The nicest person she'd met here was a prostitute. That sure said something about life, didn't it?

"You take care, honey, and watch yourself. People like you and me, we gotta stay low of the law. You don't want to end up in jail. Believe me." With that, she went back to her room and disappeared inside.

Rogue stood for a moment in the doorway, staring across the street at the diner. She saw Troy's car there, and Dottie's truck. If last night hadn't happened, she'd be at work now. She glanced towards the door leading to her neighbor's room.

Rogue wondered if the girl had a story like hers; if bad things had happened, giving her no options in life, making her turn to a life of prostitution because she had nothing else. The thought was a little scary to Rogue, though some part of her was very bitter as she went inside to pack.

_I can't even do that,_ she thought, opening drawers and folding her clothes as she placed them into her bag. What was she supposed to do, live in cheap motels and eke out a living until someone find out about her and kicked her out? Because it was beginning to look like that might be what she had to look forward to.

_Either that or a life of crime._ That thought almost made her laugh, but she had a feeling if she started, it would turn into something bordering on hysteria.

Once she'd packed her things, she opened the envelope and took out her cash. By her calculation, it was missing about fifty bucks, so either the manager had stiffed her or her neighbor had pocketed some of it. She hoped it was the manager, because it would be nice if at least _one_ person wasn't awful, but it didn't really matter anymore.

Rogue looked at the diner as she passed, and had a wild urge to go in and order a piece of pie. She wondered if they'd give it to her and hide behind the counter as she ate it. She didn't go in, however, and left it behind her just as she had so many other things, and waited for someone to pick her up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The first trucker who offered her a lift was a garrulous fellow from Alabama, who recognized the lingering traces of the South in her accent and asked her too many questions about where she was from. Rogue made up some story about running away to meet her Internet lover in Canada.

"I told him I'd be wearin' a pair of gloves," she said seriously, holding up her hands. "So he could recognize me."

"Sure wish I could take you all the way to meet him," he said, sounding sorrowful. "But I'm unloading in Bar Harbor and heading home to see my family." The trucker had told her all about his wife and his little boy, and Rogue watched the gleam of pride in his eyes as he spoke about the child. "Think he might grow up to be a baseball player. He's got a real good arm."

Rogue wondered what he would do if his boy grew up to be a mutant, but she didn't ask. Instead, she made non-committal noises to his stories, staring out of the window, watching the miles of highway disappear beneath them. Eventually the trucker, whose name was Dallas, stopped talking and put on a Johnny Cash CD. As the Man in Black sang about burning rings of fire and Fulsom prison, Rogue found herself lost in a rare memory of home; listening to Hank Williams records on the porch, reading a magazine while her cousin JB drank Evan Williams and Coke. It was a happy memory, and she shuddered thinking she might have lost it forever if she hadn't run away.

_Maybe all this will be worth it, after all._

When they arrived in Bar Harbor, the trucker pulled his rig into a gas station and Rogue hopped out, shouldering her bag, and thanked him for the ride. She offered him some money, but he held up his hand and shook his head. "You don't mention it. Least I could do for a fellow Southerner lost up here with all these Yankees."

Rogue had grinned at that, and her goodbye held more of a drawl than she was accustomed to. She almost asked if the trucker could take her home with him, back to South, because he was a good sort of person and she didn't think he'd stolen anything from her.

_No. He probably hates mutants and would push you out of the door when he found out. Or else he'd try and make you sleep with him. Don't trust anyone._

She needed to find another ride, but she was hungry, and there was something nagging at her mind, as if she'd forgotten something very important that she was supposed to do here before leaving. As she'd never even _heard_ of Bar Harbor before, it was a strange feeling.

The town was very picturesque, with quaint little shops and outdoor cafés with bright crisp awning. She walked down the street, feeling too grubby and out of place amidst all the cheerful freshness, drifting almost aimlessly.

_I have never seen so many bed and breakfasts in my entire life._

Eventually, the smell of food lured her to stop in one of the restaurants, and she counted out enough bills to pay for a bowl of chowder and a hunk of French bread. She had intended to sit at one of the little tables outside and eat, so she had the woman wrap it up to go, but when she got outside she noticed that all the tables were full.

Perhaps she'd go find the ocean, then, and eat on the beach. That would be a nicer view, anyway, and she might as well find something to occupy her during her brief stay.

She'd have to walk a ways out of town to find a ride—she didn't see a plethora of semis  
cruising down the narrow streets—and she should probably rest a little, anyway.

She carried her lunch and headed towards the ocean. It was so different than at home—instead of the warm blue waters of the Mississippi Gulf, the water was cold and gray, uninviting. As she meandered down towards the store, she looked for some place to eat. There were a lot of benches and tables, but most of them had people around, and she really wanted to be alone.

Rogue walked a little further, and then came to a halt as she approached a simple wooden pier stretched out over the sea.

It was the sort of thing tourists probably took artsy black and white photos of and framed in their living rooms; plain weathered wood stretching out over the cold water, a seagull perched on the rail, as if someone had commanded it to do so to complete the scene. It wasn't a particularly sturdy looking thing, but something about it seemed so _familiar_.

That's when she remembered. _It looks just like the one in my dream._ It did; right down to the single light post stretching up from the wood, metal gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. At night, if the fog was thick and rolling in off the ocean, it would be the _exact same scene._

_I've never been here before._

_Ah. Someone else, has, obviously._

She wondered idly if it was Troy. He was the last person she'd touched, and he was a native of the state, so it would make sense that it was him. Still, something about that felt wrong.  
Unsure why she was doing it, Rogue strolled out on the pier, carefully lest the wood give way. When she reached the light post, she looked up at it, curious.

_This just seems so familiar. It doesn't feel like Troy...what is going on?_

She sat down on the edge of the pier, settling her bag beside her, and unwrapped her lunch. The soup had cooled a bit but was still good; she ate the bread, which was very crusty, and eventually she remembered that she had no where to go, no plans, and very little money.

The thought significantly diminished her appetite.

She sipped at her watery soda, tossing breadcrumbs into the water and watching sea gulls plummet and dive after the pieces. She felt strangely unmotivated to get up and get a move on, though the sun was setting behind her and the horizon was beginning to darken. The wind blowing in off of the sea was becoming cooler, and the temperature was dropping, but still she sat there, staring into the water that slowly changed from gray to black beneath her.

As the hour grew later, she wondered if maybe she should stay the night in the town. Except that she'd not seen any motels she could likely afford and there was no way she would be staying at the Black Friar Inn if even the Motel 6 was a bit too pricey.

_If you don't want to sleep outside like a vagrant, you better get up and start walking._

Except that as soon as she resigned herself to a long walk in the cold dark back to the interstate, the light suddenly flashed on. It threw a cold spill of light down on the wood, right where she sat. Curious. She would have sworn that it couldn't have done that; hadn't the lamp been angled the other way...?

That sense of familiarity grew, and the presence in her mind wasn't Troy. She stared at the lone piece of metal surrounded by all that wood, and suddenly, Rogue thought maybe she knew who remembered the pier. If she was right...

Then she really, really needed to leave. That would be the _last_ person she wanted to run into, wouldn't it?

_So what? He's been here before. He's probably been a lot of places. So what if he likes the ocean? Maybe he just remembers the pier._

She stood up warily, shivering as she huddled in her sweater, and decided to go ahead and leave Bar Harbor behind her. Except that she saw something very strange heading towards her in the fog; running lights. A boat.

_It's a harbor. There's a lot of boats._

The boat came closer, thought it was still very hard to see. Suddenly, the light switched off, and her unease turned to dread as her body tensed, ready for battle.

"Rogue?" The voice that floated out of the darkness was one she hadn't heard since Alkali. _I'm sick of this kids' table shit._

"John?" Incredulous, she watched as the fog cleared to reveal the figure of a man in a boat, and sure enough, it was him; a little taller than she remembered, facial features a bit more pronounced, but there was no mistaking the voice.

His face was illuminated by the glow of flame, flickering madly in the wind. It wasn't a very large flame, but for him, it was more than enough to be dangerous.

"We saw you on the camera." Her jerked his chin up towards the light post. _Ah. It's a surveillance device._ His voice sounded flat, unfriendly, and she lifted her hands to show she wasn't carrying any sort of weapon, and that her hands were gloved.

"Oh." She eyed the fire nervously. He wouldn't really burn her...would he?

"Xavier send you?" He made no move to extinguish the flame.

She was pretty sure he'd do something bad to her with that fire, if she gave him any reason. They weren't friends, not any more.

"No," she said slowly, her mind racing. "I'm...I'm not at the Institute anymore."

"Uh-huh. Get in the boat."

"John, listen to me," she pleaded, having no idea what awaited her in his boat but sure it wasn't good. "I swear, this is just a coincidence! I didn't mean to be here, I was on my way to Canada, and--"

"Rogue, I really don't care. I was told to put you in the boat, and if I have to chase you and blow things up and drag you in here, I'll be pissed. It's fucking freezing out here. Now get in the boat." He waved the flame at her, which she thought made him look sort of ridiculous but more like the John she remembered.

"Who told you to put me in the boat?" She was stalling for time, wondering if she could make a run for it. She could, probably, but it might mean leaving her bag behind and everything she had—including her money—was in there.

"Who do you think? Look, Rogue, I am so not playing around here." He was scowling, but the flame was still bright in the darkness.

"Why in the hell should I trust you not to kill me?"

"I couldn't tell you. But you're the one that came here, and you caught our attention parading underneath the camera, so get in the damn thing or try with the running so I can see how good my aim's gotten. Either way, could you make up your mind?" He raised the silver lighter a little. "In three seconds, it's going to be very hot on that nice wooden pier," he continued, sounding bored. "One. Two. Thr--"

"All right!" Rogue snapped, picking up her bag. She tossed it down into the boat, thinking this _had_ to be the dumbest decision she'd ever made. "Look, I'm not here to sign up or anything, okay?"

"Tell it to Magneto." He clicked the Zippo closed and watched as she perched on the edge of the pier, looking nervously down.

"Can't you just let me go? I swear I won't--"

He raised the lighter again, rolling his eyes. "Rogue--"

"Right," she finished, then hopped down into the boat. She ended up falling backwards, the boat lilting sharply as she fought for balance, and then righted herself. He was smirking at her, the expression maddeningly familiar.

"Eating too much?"

She glared at him, and moved her fingers to her glove, trying to distract him as she surreptitiously tried to bare her hand. "Not really, considering I'm homeless. So why are you on boat duty?"

He put the gun out of the way, but he was holding a pair of handcuffs. "Nice try. Arms out."

Making a sound of disgust, she held her hands out, wondering if she should try and touch him with her face, or--

He snapped the handcuffs on her wrists and pushed her over towards a seat. Once there, he found a length of rope and motioned for her to sit. "Don't wriggle or anything."

Humiliated that she was being tied to a boat seat by _John_ of all people, she remained silent and still as he began tying her. She shifted a little, waiting for an opportune time to kick him.

He paused for a moment in tying one of the looser knots, and Rogue went for her chance and kicked out, knocking him backwards so that he fell on the floor of the boat. Unfortunately, when she tried to move, the knots tied themselves tighter and she found she had effectively trapped herself.

"Where did you learn that?" she demanded, annoyed at his smirk.

"Boy Scouts," he snapped at her sarcastically, and then turned back to the controls and began humming the theme to _Gilligan's Island _as he turned the boat and headed back out into sea. Rogue watched the pier fade away and added it to her list of "Places I Never Want to See Again." Which could really be amended to "The Entire State of Maine."

"So why'd you leave?"

She'd been cursing her incredible stupidity and chalking up to stress and a lack of protein in her diet when he spoke. "It doesn't matter. I just left." Something about telling him the whole sordid tale worried her—was she still loyal to the Professor, then?

_No. You just don't want him to laugh at you. Besides, it's none of his business._

"Okay, don't tell me." He flipped on a switch and some music began playing, but he scowled and flipped it off. "Mystique and her Miles Davis fixation," he muttered, and Rogue shivered in the cold.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wishing she'd put on a heavier sweater.

"Somewhere." He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. "You won't answer my questions, I won't answer yours."

"He missed you, you know," she said suddenly, remembering Bobby after Alkali, cleaning out John's side of the room. "Did you...did they tell you about Dr. Grey?".

"Yeah," he said shortly, and his tone of voice was almost as cold as the night air, so Rogue didn't speak again, and instead wondered if he was going to throw her to the sharks. _He'll have to kill me first._

She was already cold from sitting on the pier, and now it was hard to feel her face as the wind brutally whipped against her, tangling her hair. She suffered in silence, refusing to ask him for anything, envious when he pulled a mask over his face that probably kept the cold wind from chafing him like it was continually doing to her.

Balefully, she wondered if he had to drive the boat because he was the lowest person on the villain totem pole. For some reason, that thought gave her a vicious sort of satisfaction.

Eventually, the boat slowed and she saw something dark and frightening rising like a monolith out of the water. It looked like an island, and the boat was heading right towards it. Right as they approached the rocky façade, a door opened smoothly to admit the boat.

Before he piloted the small water craft inside, however, he put the boat on idle and walked over to where she was sitting. He actually looked somewhat remorseful as he looked at her. "I'm, um, ...sorry about this."

That sounded ominous, but all he did was lean down and pick up her bag from the floor of the boat. That, and toss it overboard.

"Hey!" she shrieked, as the last few things she owned went sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic. "That's...John, I don't have..." she stopped speaking, grateful that he wasn't watching her as she was crying. _I'll blame it on the wind in my eyes, if he asks._

"I know. I didn't have anything either. It's better that way." With that, he went back and started the boat again to presumably dock it within the cave. "Boss's orders. And Rogue? It's just Pyro now. No one calls me John anymore."

Rogue stared out into the darkness and wondered what horror awaited her next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

She couldn't see much of anything when he slowed the boat, having cried herself sick and given up staring into a sea of endless darkness and fog. At some point during her boat ride, she'd managed to convinced herself that Magneto was going to kill her. Maybe she didn't even care anymore.

The boat disappeared into what looked like the mouth of a cave, coming to rest in a slip once inside. Pyro turned the motor off and hopped agilely onto the dock, beginning to tie the boat up. Rogue watched him with dull eyes and remained silent.

He finished and came back onto the boat, putting the key in his pocket, then approached her. In the light she saw he looked almost as windblown as her. "So I'm going to untie you, but I'll shoot you in like, the knee or something, if you try anything. Okay? That hurts," he informed her seriously. "Just so you know."

Rogue merely nodded, and didn't struggle at all as he released the knots with a few pulls. His gloved hand wrapped around her arm and he yanked her up, hard.

She allowed him to tug her off the boat, quiet.

for the moment. He dragged her through a steel door into a darkened walkway, everything apparently surrounded by rock. She could hear the roar of the sea fading behind them as they disappeared further inside the darkness.

"So you got her."

Rogue looked up at that, hearing another voice drifting out of the shadows. It was a flat, oddly atonal sort of sound. She saw yellow eyes peering at her before the rest of the woman appeared, naked blue scales and short red hair. _Mystique. Doesn't she ever get cold?_

"Yeah," Pyro said, and pulled her forward. "Wasn't that hard. They don't teach 'em how to run at Xavier's, I guess." He smirked at that.

Rogue glared at him, but she was too tired to say anything. Plus, it was probably best to keep her mouth shut with the two of them there.

Mystique gave a little laugh. "Magneto said to bring her to him as soon as you got back. You tie up the boat?"

"No, I decided to let it float away," Pyro drawled, and sighed. "Of course I did, though I know you'll check it anyway."

"Go on," Mystique commanded, but Rogue was surprised to hear a thread of amusement in the woman's voice. That someone found Pyro amusing was a surprise, to be sure.

Pyro led her through a labyrinthine set of corridors, which she tried her best to memorize, and then eventually gave up. It was next to impossible to tell where they were going except for _up_--and then only because there were occasionally some stairs to climb.

They ended up in front of a set of metal double-doors, and Pyro knocked twice. "It's me, I have her." He looked at Rogue for the first time since they'd left the boat. "She might be frozen or something, though." He peered at her curiously. "She's not really saying anything."

She had little doubt to whom she'd been brought when the door opened on its own.

Pyro dragged her in the room, finally letting her go with a little shove that she privately thought was unnecessary. Rogue stared resolutely at the floor, which was rock, and tried to prepare herself for eventually having to face him.

"Rogue. How nice to see you again."

She finally raised her head, and tried to keep her face expressionless. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of appeared worried. Which was sort of impossible, but she tried her best.

Magneto looked much the same as the last time she'd seen him; frightening. He was standing behind a desk, his expression inscrutable. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, and couldn't say anything in response to his rather inane greeting. That wasn't only because of the fact she was shaking with cold and exhaustion, because she'd not been able to say anything the last time he'd spoken to her on the X-Jet, though she'd really, really wanted to.

She'd thought of all sorts of things to say in response to that _We love what you've done with your hair_ comment—her favorite was _Oh, you think your failure looks good on me, do you?_, but she'd not been able to say a word to him. She'd gone for her glove instead.

That didn't seem all that wise at the moment and besides, he'd made the restraints too tight for her to tug her gloves off even if she wanted to.

"Pyro, you may go."

Pyro turned without another word and left her there, standing like some demented penitent in handcuffs before him. A chair moved across the room and hit her legs from behind, not hard, but with enough force to make her fall into it with a rather unladylike sort of thud.

She concentrated on her hands, head bowed, and didn't look at him anymore.

"So. As you might expect, I am very interested to hear why you're here. Did Charles send you?" His voice was benign, but she remained silent, not trusting him.

"Ah. The silent game. Name, rank, serial number, is that it?" He sounded amused. "You know, it would be much easier to just answer my questions, Rogue, rather than have me force the answer out of you." His voice hardened. "Which I will do, if you do not start talking."

"I'm not—I didn't mean to end up here," she whispered, darting a quick glance at him before staring at her lap again.

"Would you care to explain that?" He moved from around his desk, and Rogue sucked in a quick breath and tried to think through what she needed to say.

"N-no. I—you see, I was in Lewiston, and I—I had to leave. So I caught a ride with a trucker, and he d-dropped me off here. In Bar Harbor, I mean." She was babbling, but at least she was talking. It was a start.

"This fascinating tale is not explaining to me how you ended up on my pier," he said coldly. Suddenly he reached out and caught her chin between his gloved hands, raising her face up to his.

Her eyes were wide with fright, and she was breathing much too fast as she struggled to make some sense out of what happened so he would stop staring at her like that. "I was eating lunch." That sounded ridiculous even to her, but it was the truth.

He sighed and dropped her chin, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The gesture was oddly humanizing—she noticed he looked tired. "You were eating lunch. On the pier that just _happens_ to have camera surveillance wired straight to here?" He drew another chair over and sat directly in front of her. "If you were me, would you believe that?"

"Yes, because it's _true_," she informed him. "I've never been to Bar Harbor in my life." She forced herself to meet his gaze, which wasn't easy, but she hoped if there was any way he could see the truth in her eyes that he would.

"_I_ have, many times. There are nicer places to have one's lunch."

She almost scowled at him, but then remembered who he was and changed her mind. "Look, I—I'd seen it before. But..." she was hesitant to tell him it had been in a dream, because how insane would that make her sound?

_Wait. He's the one that strapped you in a machine designed to mutate world leaders. He's not playing with a full deck, himself, is he?_

He was looking vaguely triumphant, as if she'd just admitted she was on some secret espionage mission for the Professor. "Yes?"

Rogue watched him carefully. "I had...I had _your_ memory of that place, but I didn't know _what_ it was. I didn't even know it _was_ your memory at first, and when I figured it out, I wanted to leave, but then Pyro showed up..."

She watched the moment it registered with him. "Ah, yes. Your ability to absorb memories, of course. Though, to my knowledge, it's been quite some time since Liberty Island. You've been stuck with me all this time?"

Why did he look like that amused him? "No, not really. I just...you're like the others. Sort of quiet, but still there, sometimes. I saw the pier in a dream." She winced, but if admitting it got her out of there, then... "And when I saw it in person, I just..."

To her surprise, he nodded. "I think I understand. I don't know that I believe you, but your story isn't implausible.

"Of course," he said smoothly, standing up, "It's exactly the sort of story Charles would concoct if he were to send you here."

"Trust me, he didn't," Rogue responded darkly.

"I trust very few people, Rogue, and you are certainly not one of them. Now," he waved his hand and she found herself compelled to rise—he was using his power to tug on the handcuffs—and he gazed down at her thoughtfully. "What to do with you?"

"Let me go?" It was worth a try.

"It seems I would be doing you a great disservice, however. After nearly killing you, perhaps I owe you a bit of a good turn." He smiled, and she took a step backwards. "Don't you think?"

"Um...no, really. You don't," she promised him fervently. The idea of Magneto doing her a favor was sort of terrifying.

He reached a hand out towards her, and she shrank away instinctively from his touch. "What happened to you?"

There was the slightest hint of actual concern in his voice, and that frightened her more than anything else. That he should be the only one who cared was unthinkable.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, too upset to say anything more coherent and determined not to cry in front of him.

"As you wish," he said with a shrug, though his voice wasn't unkind. "Rogue, I believe you are in a rather unfortunate situation at the moment. You are either lying and attempting to spy on me, which I promise you will not end well, or else you are all alone in the world without a thing to your name."

"Well, thanks to Pyro throwing my bag--" she interjected, but he held up his hand for her to be silent and she did so, though grudgingly.

"Despite our...past history...you are a mutant and I will not turn you away with nothing but the clothes on your back." He paused as if waiting for her to speak, watching her carefully.

Rogue didn't say a word, but inside she was seething. _Arrogant man. Does he expect me to thank him for that?_

He sighed and turned away from her. "You have no appreciation for my generosity? Ah, well. Follow me. We'll discuss what to do with you in the morning."

She really had no choice, because he was still using his powers on the metal cuffs shackling her wrists and she was too exhausted to struggle. They left his study and proceeded out into a centralized room with a staircase, at the top of which were doors that presumably led to living quarters.

Or holding cells, but she doubted they had staircase access.

He paused in front of a door at the end of the hallway, which opened to reveal a small bedroom. It was furnished with a bed but nothing else. It reminded her of a prison cell—there weren't any windows, though there was a door that led to what was likely a closet. The second door opened up into a bathroom.

Despite the spartan appearance of it, the room was still nicer than her hotel in Lewiston. That was sort of of depressing.

He motioned to her and Rogue followed, because what else was she supposed to do?

"Your hands, please," he instructed, and far beyond wanting to fight, she held them out obediently. The cuffs clicked off and clattered on the floor. "Go have a shower. There's no way to escape, and Rogue—try and use your powers on me and I'll kill you," he said bluntly. "We're clear?"

She nodded, looking away from him. "Yeah. Clear."

"Good." He stepped back politely and she went into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror—which was a bad idea, she'd never _seen_ her hair look that bad before, and her face was waxy and ashen, eyes wide and glassy.

"Shower, Rogue," he called, and she glared fiercely at the door because she couldn't do it to his face.

She pulled her gloves off, then attended to the rest of her clothing, which formed a sodden pile on the floor. She turned on the shower and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. The hot water _did_ feel good, her skin was very chilled from her boat ride.

She found a bar of soap and lathered her hands with it, and then the ridiculousness of her situation seemed to strike her at once. She was naked and soaping herself up in _Magneto's fortress._ Was there no limits to the absurdities of fate?

She started laughing, but the sound was so brittle and dry she was surprised the glass of the shower door didn't shatter beneath it.

Rogue ended up sobbing, curled up on the floor of the shower, the bathroom filling with steam.

"Rogue, we don't have a great deal of water in the tanks, so you'll deplete it eventually and suffer the displeasure of everyone else who would like a shower," he called, and she didn't raise her head from where it rested on her bent knees.

_Fine. Maybe they'll kill me. I can't imagine how this can get any worse._

"I will come in there in two minutes if you're not out by then"

Oh. That's how, then.

Rogue forced herself to stand up and turn off the shower. She wasn't as cold, and felt a little more clear-headed as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a dark blue towel. It was nice to be clean and dry, not to mention warm, but she chewed nervously on her lip as she looked down at the pile of clothing on the floor. They were still soaking wet, but she be damned before she'd ask him for a--

A knock came at the door. "I assume you need something to wear."

_Yes, since you had all my things thrown into the ocean, I assume that I do._ Instead of that, she said, "My clothes are fine. They're just wet."

"Let's not be childish about this, shall we? I'm opening the door to hand you something. If this offends your modesty, hide in the shower."

Rogue gritted her teeth and stood behind the door, and when the door opened she thought about jumping towards him—naked, she was _really_ dangerous—but she didn't. She watched as he dropped something on the floor and shut the door again, then reached out and found a gray U-Conn sweatshirt and a pair of men's pajama bottoms.

She looked at them doubtfully. Why couldn't she see Magneto in a pair of plaid flannel pants and a college sweatshirt? _Unless it was College of Evil Masterminds, or something._. Besides, he was a tall man, and these clothes didn't seem like they'd fit him all that well.

"Pyro's," he called, as if reading her mind. She glanced distastefully down at the pair of wool socks, but her feet were freezing on the cold tile so she supposed she shouldn't complain.

She dressed quickly and left her clothes in a pile on the floor—she had no idea what to do with them—and put her gloves back on. "Um...now what?"

"Do you wish to sleep in the bathroom?"

"Maybe, what's my other choice?" she asked, and he laughed. It was a nice laugh, too, and it annoyed her. Villains were supposed to have bad, evil laughs.

"Open the door, hands out with your palms facing upwards."

Sighing, she pulled the door open and did as he asked. Seeing him made her nervous again. If she could talk to him with something as a buffer—say, the door, or maybe an ocean—between them, it might not be so hard to have a conversation.

He clipped a thick metal circlet on each of her upper forearms, which effectively kept her gloves in place. He repeated the same with her ankles, and she really wished she could kick him. She wasn't stupid—the four pieces of metal rendered her completely under his control—and didn't want to think about what he'd do in retaliation if she tried that.

"You know, if you wanted to do something nice for me, you could just give me some money and let me leave," she suggested hopefully, as he fastened the final piece of metal on her ankle, over the sock.

He stood up to face her again "Perhaps I shall, if you still wish to leave." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an appraising glance. She stood still as a prey animal caught in the predator's gaze, and suddenly her arms jerked up over her head and snapped together at the wrists.

Rogue made a noise somewhere between outrage and fear. "Why'd you do that?"

"Just checking," he said, and she hated that he sounded smug. "Are you hungry?"

She was, but she shook her head. She wanted to take as little from him as she possibly could. "I will still want to leave in the morning, Magneto. So maybe you should just send me back now."

"Tell me why you left Charles' school," he said suddenly, his voice intent, and she did not like the look on his face at all. How could he go from benign to scary without any indication whatsoever?

"No," she whispered again, looking away. "No."

"Fine. I shall assume you became...disenchanted...with Charles' philosophy and went seeking a way to live amidst the humans," he drawled, waving a hand. "Likely it's not working out so well?"

How did he...? Rogue stared at him, but she didn't answer, because he did not need to know the full extent of her recent problems.

He laughed shortly. "Perhaps you may find our way of thinking here in the Brotherhood more to your liking, if what I have said is true."

"The answer isn't violence," she said quietly, remembering what she'd heard on the news.

"It is not the time or place to discuss the answer to anything. You should sleep."

Rogue turned her attention back to him, then looked at the bed. She was tired, but shouldn't she try and least make an attempt at escape? Would she ever respect herself if she didn't?

"I'll have to lock you in, of course." He was standing in front of the door, and she really wished he would leave.

"I figured as much," she said with a shrug, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress was firm, which was a nice change from the one in Lewiston.

"If you wish me to trust you, then you must earn it." He pulled the door open and gave her a long look before shutting it behind him. She heard the small _click_ that denoted the lock and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She felt ridiculous, wearing clothes that weren't hers and lying in a bedroom in the home of a man who'd once tried to kill her.

Rogue sat up and found the light switch, after trying the door rather half-heartedly. She climbed into the bed—the sheets were cold, no one had obviously slept here in a while--and buried her face in the pillow, trying to muffle the small sounds of her crying herself to sleep. She didn't think he'd be able to hear, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how miserable she was.

_At least at Liberty Island I had Magneto's certainty. Now if he were to touch me, I'd probably get that he was really pleased at how low I've sunk._


	9. Chapter 9

** Thanks to everyone for the nice reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, even given the unconventional pairing :)**

**  
Chapter 9**

She hadn't thought she would, but she was so exhausted that she fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep and didn't stir once during the night. She woke up to a knocking sound at her door, and for a moment had absolutely no idea where she was. The sparsely decorated room was completely foreign, and it was still dark because of the lack of a window.

_Oh. Right. I'm locked in a bedroom in Magneto's evil lair. _

The knocking came again, accompanied by his voice. "Rogue? Are you awake?"

"Yes." She drew her legs up into her chest and rested her chin on her knees, waiting, because she couldn't do anything else.

_Maybe he came to his senses, and he'll just let me go._

The door opened, and he walked in, looking much the same as he had the night before. "Good morning."

Was she supposed to actually answer that? She blinked as he threw the light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness that flooded the room.

"Did you lose your ability to speak during the night?" He cocked his head at her.

She shook her head, obstinate.

"You didn't have this problem last night," he observed dryly. He was moving closer to her, towards where she sat on the bed.

Rogue stood up, not wanting to give him the advantage by being seated while he was standing. "You wanted to kill me," she reminded him at length. "Have you forgotten about that? Cause I haven't."

"I didn't _want_ to kill you," he corrected her, but she didn't like the way he was smiling at her. "I _had_ to. There is a difference." He was still moving towards her—she backed up, wondering if they were playing some psychotic game of chase.

"Yeah, I'm kinda not…not getting that," she responded, and eventually she backed up against the closet door, trapped. "Don't…what are you doing?" She flattened herself against the door, wondering if maybe he thought terrorizing her was fun.

"We're not going to get along very well if you're terrified of me," he said, stopping a few feet in front her, but still closer than she'd like.

"I'm not terrified," she snapped immediately, but that was a lie. _The last time he was this close to me, I was in that machine, and…._ She turned her face away, as if he was going to grab it between his hands again. "And we don't need to get along."

"Rogue, I'm not going to kill you." His voice was very calm, but she still wouldn't look at him.

"Why should I believe you?" she asked him, tears pricking her eyes. She hated this, _hated_ it, was so sick and tired of crying she would be very happy if she never, ever did it again.

"I didn't lie about it the last time, did I?"

She thought about that, _really_ thought about it, and then turned her face slowly back to him. "No," she said slowly, shaking her head. "I guess you didn't."

"Well, there you go. If I intend to kill you, I'll mention it beforehand." He held up his hands—which were gloved—and said amicably, "Now, I believe we should find you some clothes and something to eat." He backed away from her deliberately, as if showing her with his retreat that he was serious.

"Why are you being nice to me?" She asked him suddenly, still unconvinced. "How do I know that you aren't furious at me for---" she stopped, expelling a breath.

"For what?" He gave her a calculating look.

"For not dying," she answered honestly.

Surprisingly, he laughed. "Rogue, I'm not a monster. Why would I do that? It wasn't as if you escaped _yourself_, was it? If it weren't for the timely intervention of Cyclops and Wolverine, my plan would have worked."

That was an unpleasant reminder of her helplessness, and she hated him for that. "I guess not."

"So, I hardly have reason to hate you or wish you dead."

Rogue's voice became very tired. "I just want you to let me go."

"To do what?"

She gritted her teeth. "Live," she snapped, annoyed.

"I've already told you that I'm not going to kill you, so it appears you'll be living regardless," he pointed out, and she nearly stomped her foot. He was so _frustrating_…!

"Well, that's just great," she drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Guess it's all settled then."

"You're impertinent," he chastised her. "I don't allow that."

"Well, that's just too bad, because—" Rogue yelped as her arms snapped together over her head again. "This is not making me trust you," she said slowly.

"You misunderstand me, Rogue. The goal here is for _me_ to trust _you_. If you would think clearly for a moment, you would realize that."

She glared at him. "Why would I want to do that?" She scowled as she realized that made her sound like she didn't want to think clearly.

"Because perhaps you would find you like it here," he said simply.

"I doubt that," she huffed, looking up at her pinned arms. "This isn't exactly fun."

"I'm afraid _fun_ is not what I'm going for." His voice was cold.

Rogue didn't say anything to that, and he released her arms. "Come along." He turned from her and went towards the door, opening it with a wave.

She followed him down the stairs, walking on her own volition so that he didn't pull her along with his power like a dog on a leash. The cavernous fortress still looked impossibly cold and inhospitable to her; though it was much better once they arrived in the dining room, which actually looked fairly comfortable.

"This is Rogue," Magneto said, gesturing to her for the benefit of the four people seated around the table. She recognized Mystique and Pyro, but not the other two. One was man with green skin, hair, and yellow eyes. The other was a tall man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and red eyes. Neither of them looked familiar to her at all. "She as the ability to drain your powers and your life force if she touches you with her bare skin. If she keeps contact long enough, she can kill you. I'd suggest not trying it."

She watched them all absorb that information with apparent interest as Magneto turned back to her. "Pyro and Mystique you know, of course. The man with the dark hair is Gambit. The other is known as Mesmero." He didn't tell her what their powers were, which she thought was unfair but predictable of him.

"How do you know her, then, Pyro?" Gambit asked her, his accent lyrical. Rogue recognized a Louisiana Cajun when she heard one speak. "She's wearing your sweatshirt."

"She was at Xavier's with me," Pyro said, and Rogue heard the strain in his voice as he answered, and wondered why he was reluctant to admit he knew her. "She was all wet from the boat and didn't have any other clothes, so I had to lend her some." He went back to eating his breakfast, which looked like cereal, without glancing at her.

That bothered her. Bad guys weren't supposed to eat _cereal_. They were supposed to eat…kittens, or something.

"Have a seat," Magneto said, waving towards an empty spot on the table. Rogue hesitated a fraction of a second too long, and she felt herself propelled forward by his power towards the table.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to work on that," he said, and the others laughed. Irritated, Rogue sat in the chair and tried to avoid assuming a petulant adolescent sprawl, though it was very hard not to do so. The others—except for Pyro—were gazing at her with interest. Rogue figured most of Magneto's Brotherhood were willing converts, and that prisoners didn't take breakfast with them with metal shackles around their wrists.

Magneto returned with a bowl and a plate of bacon and some toast, setting the plate in front of her before disappearing again. Pyro pushed the milk over at her, and Rogue filled up her bowl with a generic cornflake-like cereal. The entire thing was extremely uncomfortable, because the rest of them were staring at her as she ate, but she was starving so she tried her best to ignore them.

"So why'd you leave Xavier's?" This from Mystique, and Rogue felt herself tense as the other woman addressed her. She chewed slowly and didn't look up from her breakfast.

"Rogue hasn't told anyone that yet," Pyro answered for her.

"Rogue doesn't think it's any of your business," Rogue muttered, though she sort of wished she hadn't, because it was very rude and she was trying not to call attention to herself.

"Then why did you show up here?" This from Mesmero. The name reminded her of a carnival act, and he certainly looked like he could be featured front and center on an advertisement, though she felt a little bad about thinking that about him. He couldn't help how weird he looked, could he?

"Accident," Rogue said with a shrug. "I was having lunch on a pier and Pyro showed up and made me get in the boat. He threatened to burn me."

"Your technique with women needs work, _mon frère_," the red-eyed mutant drawled, and Rogue actually smiled a little at that.

"That hasn't changed," she murmured, daring a glance at Pyro.

The look he gave her was completely unfriendly. "Can I hit her or something?" he asked, directing his question to Mystique.

"Not at breakfast," Mystique answered, her husky voice amused.

Rogue sat her spoon back on her plate and took a deep breath. She wondered where Magneto was, why he'd left her alone with them.

"Maybe she'll have to take Wednesdays," Gambit said suddenly, and Rogue's brow furrowed as she looked up at his apparent non-sequitur.

"What do you mean?" She was really hoping she wasn't going to _be_ here for Wednesday.

"We all take turns cooking dinner," he explained. "Can you cook?"

"Yes," she snapped, then sort of thought about that. "Um...I can sorta make spaghetti." Wait, _what_ was she doing? "But why would I?"

"Would you like to eat?" Mystique's yellow gaze was unblinking, which Rogue found disconcerting.

She looked down at her breakfast, which she'd eaten all of. "If Magneto isn't going to let me go, then yeah, I suppose I would."

"Very well then. You can have Wednesdays." Mystique pushed her plate away, exchanging an amused look with Gambit.

"Oh, what? No one likes my macaroni and cheese and fish sticks anymore?" Pyro interjected, sounded wounded.

"Those are supposed to be _fish_?" Mystique asked, curious. "I thought they were chicken."

"Pyro cooks them so long, they may as well be," Gambit said, reaching across the table and snatching a piece of bacon off of Mesmero's plate.

"Would you care to spend the morning tormented by the most horrible image you can imagine?" Mesmero asked him darkly, in the sort of voice that reminded Rogue of the carnival again.

"You in a swimsuit?" Gambit said with a wink, and Pyro laughed.

Magneto reappeared, and the change in the room was instantaneous. The banter stopped, all hints of humor vanishing immediately. As if on cue, everyone stood up at once, stacking dishing and carrying them into the kitchen. Pyro reached out and took hers without a word, though Rogue didn't bother to thank him for it.

They were so efficient, it reminded her of the military. It wasn't at all like the cheerful chaos that followed meals back at the Institute, but then again, Magneto was hardly running a school, was he? She heard them file out of the kitchen and leave the dining room, but she was too busy thinking of what to say to Magneto to give them much attention.

Magneto sat at the table with a cup of coffee, watching her carefully. Very slowly, Rogue stood up, enjoying the experience of looking down at him for once.

"Please just let me leave. I promise I won't tell anyone where your secret lair is or that you have Malt-O-Meal cornflakes for breakfast, or who any of you are. I just want..."

"What?" He was looking up at her intently. "What do you want?"

She managed to hold his gaze longer than usual. "I want my life to be my own. I'm sick of other people telling me what to do all the time. I don't want to be a pawn in anyone's scheme, or a scapegoat, or someone's project. I'm tired of being at the mercy of everyone else."

"That, unfortunately, is life," he answered, something very cold behind his words that she did not understand. "It is very seldom the reality you would choose if you were given the opportunity to do so. Sit down."

Rogue remained standing, chin tilted defiantly. "No."

Her feet jerked forward suddenly, and the world tilted as she fell back into the chair. Rogue glared at him, face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "I hate you," she said childishly, breathing hard.

"I know," he said, shrugging. "You don't have to like me. I just want you to behave yourself, and actually _listen_ to me."

"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms and glaring. "I'm listening."

He picked up his coffee mug. "I'm afraid I'm not inclined to speak to you while you are so clearly agitated. Perhaps you need to do something to take your mind off your anger. Say...clean the kitchen?"

He wasn't...was he _serious_? "What?"

"Attend to the dishes. I'm sure you can figure out where to put things. Don't use all the hot water up—we had precious little in the tank this morning after your lengthy shower last night. You may find me in my study—second door to the left when you leave the kitchen—when you are finished. If you're longer than twenty minutes, I'll come looking for you." He stood up abruptly and went to leave the room.

"You'll have to pass by the study to get anywhere, Rogue. If you try and sneak past me, I'll know."

"Yeah? I can be really quiet," she said peevishly, unable to believe she was going to have to do the _dishes_. Although if it was between that and torture, maybe the dishes weren't so bad.

"Not with those on," he said, gesturing towards her cuffs. "I'll know. Go on, now. Twenty minutes. Don't make me come looking for you—you won't like it, I promise." He left here there, and she wished there had been a dish left on the table to throw after him, the arrogant bastard.

She narrowed her eyes when she saw he'd left his coffee cup. Snatching it up, she carried it into the door that presumably led to the kitchen, which was a modern affair with a fair bit of stainless steel. She added the coffee cup to the pile of dishes in the sink and turned on the faucet, opening the cupboard beneath to find some soap.

The smell of the detergent gave her a moment's panic, remembering Troy, but she resolutely pushed that aside and began scrubbing the dishes. She wondered who had made breakfast—they'd used a lot of dishes, that was for certain, and made quite a mess.

There _was_ something calming about doing the dishes, actually. It was nice to have something to focus on for a few minutes, so that she didn't have to think about what had happened or what she should do. She didn't really want to admit that, though, because that would mean he was right about diffusing her anger with housework, and just about the last thing Rogue wanted to do was admit _he_ was right about _anything_.

When she finished, she dried her hands on one of the blue dishtowels and went to find Magneto.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Rogue found Magneto's study easily enough, and sort of hovered outside the open door, unsure if she should knock or otherwise announce her presence. She cleared her throat, but any form of greeting died on her lips as he raised his head to look at her.

"Come in," he ordered, and waved to one of the uncomfortable-looking metal chairs facing his desk. At least this time she'd be able to sit without having the chair strike the back of her knees and force her to do so.

Small victories were important.

As she entered the room, the door swung shut behind her. Rogue jumped a little at the sound. She sat down, feeling a bit foolish as she was still wearing Pyro's clothes, and looked at Magneto steadily.

They stared at each other silently for a long moment before Rogue eventually dropped her gaze.

"So. You are calmer now, prepared to listen to me?"

She really _was_, but his arrogance annoyed her. "Yes," she said slowly, forcing an even tone. She hoped he appreciated the effort.

"Good," he said simply. "Give me something to prove to me you're not lying."

"That I'm not lying about what?" she asked, brow furrowed. Did he plan on calling the Professor? That was a horrifying thought. Could he even _do_ that?

"Any of it," he said, waving a hand. She tensed, because that gesture usually meant he was manipulating something, but there was no low-pitched hum that accompanied it so she relaxed a little. "Your story of working in…Lewiston, was it?...running away, finding your way to Bar Harbor."

Rogue thought about that. She supposed she couldn't blame him for wanting concrete proof, but what could she give him? "Do you know my name?" she asked him slowly, fingers twining together nervously in her lap.

He looked at her as if she were exceedingly stupid. "Rogue."

"No. My real name."

"Your _human_ name," he corrected her immediately.

"Fine. My human name. Do you know what it is?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Marie, isn't it?"

She nodded. "If you call the diner in Lewiston, ask if a girl named Anna Marie worked there." Her gloved fingers lightly touched the streak in her hair. "I'm pretty memorable."

There was a strange look in his eyes as he watched her fingers twine in the white of her hair, and she felt nervous again. He blinked, as if he'd been somewhere far away, and nodded. "Fine. Give me the number." He pushed a piece of a paper and a pen over at her, and Rogue scribbled the name of the place and the number down and handed it back.

Magneto looked down at the paper. "_The diner_?" His lips quirked up. "Thank you for writing that down for me. I'm afraid I might have forgotten."

She scowled, face flushing. He was horrid to tease her like that. "Do you think this is easy for me?" she asked him seriously.

"Likely not." He picked up a very bulky looking sort of phone and dialed the numbers. The phone reminded her of something she'd seen in a movie—Jurassic Park 3, was it?

_Satellite phone. Probably only way to get a signal out here._

"Why should I tell them I'm calling?" he asked her, eyes sharp.

She resisted the urge to tell him something bratty, because this was the least acerbic conversation they'd had to date and she wasn't all that eager to see him revert to scary again. _Scarier_, that was. "Don't tell them you're checking my references," she joked weakly. "Don't think you'd get a very good one."

_That_ intrigued him, she could tell. His voice was very business-like as he spoke. "Yes, hello.  
I'm calling to see if I may verify that a woman by the name of Anna Marie recently worked at your establishment?" He paused, listening, and Rogue wondered who'd answered and what they were saying.

_Oh, her. The crazy mutant thief. Yeah, we ran her off real good._

Magneto's gaze flickered back to her briefly. "Yes. White streak in the hair. That would be her." His eyes narrowed suddenly, and he looked more dangerous the longer he was silent. "Was she? How fascinating. I'm sure you were quite pleased to be rid of her." He hung up the phone and looked at her. "Reasons for your leaving the diner are becoming clear to me."

Rogue laughed mirthlessly. "I guess they weren't real flattering, huh?"

"_A dangerous mutant who steals and attacks her coworkers for no reason,_" he recited, still looking rather menacing. Curiously, she wasn't afraid of him. Instead she was almost…_pleased_ at his obvious ire, because it wasn't directed at her—rather, towards those who had hurt her. "I should be wary of allowing you near other, _normal_ humans," he continued, his voice so low it was almost a purr.

"Especially ones who try and rape me," she hissed, the memory of it making her angry.

"Tell me what happened," he urged her, his eyes no longer so cold.

There was a rhythm to their speech, frantic and fast, and the words were there before she'd given conscious thought to speaking them. "I was working there, and living in this motel across the street. One of the dishwashers asked me on a date. He was late picking me up, so I went into the diner to call him—it was closed on Sunday nights, and I had a key. They thought I was _responsible_, you see." She smiled, and it felt like a knife cutting across her face.

"He tried to rape me. I defended myself the best way I knew how." She looked down at her hands, lying quietly in her lap. "Then I hit him across the head with a frying pan."

"Did you kill him?"

She shook her head, not looking up. "No. I just knocked him out, then I called the owner. I didn't want—I just wanted her to fire him and make him go away." There were other reasons, but she didn't want to tell him about the Professor. 

"She didn't, though."

"No, she didn't. He told her I'd been trying to rob the place, and had hit him when he'd caught me at it. Then he told her I was a mutant. Then she told me I was fired."

For a moment she wondered what was wrong with her hands. Then she realized she was trembling, hard, and wondered if maybe she'd yet to deal with what had happened. "I went back to the motel. The manager found me as I was trying to go into my room, told me he'd talked to the people at the diner. Dangerous mutant that I was, I best be gone the next morning." She raised her head at last to look at him, voice deadened. "You can call there, too, if you want."

"I believe you," he said quietly, and how strange those words she'd so wanted to hear would be from _him_. "Do you need something to drink? Water, maybe?"

She focused on him, confused. "Wh—What?" 

"You're pale as a ghost," he explained, and he almost sounded concerned. "You're also shaking."

Oh. Right. Rogue took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. "No. I'm fine. It just…it's fine," she finished lamely, suddenly ashamed she'd been visibly upset in front of him.

"It's _not_ fine," he said darkly. "You don't have to pretend that it is."

"I'm not," she protested, vaguely wounded. "I'm just saying—"

"You are," he interrupted. "You think it's your fault." 

"I could have stopped him without using my powers," she said suddenly, the dark little nagging thought that had been bothering her since it happened. "I didn't have to let them know I was a mutant."

"Why shouldn't they know? It would have been better to have stayed hidden, would it?"

She was slightly frightened by the intensity with which he said that. "It would have been better for me," she said simply. "Whether or not it's right, it would have."

He leaned back in his chair. "So you'll accept that, then. Run away, pretend, hide who you are."

"I guess I have to. That's the way the world works," she informed him bitterly. "What should I have done?"

"Killed him," he said bluntly. 

"Oh, and ended up in jail?" She shook her head. "No, thanks."

"It would have been self-defense."

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him. Was he even listening to her? "Are you delusional? The world doesn't work that way. They'd have put me in jail for murder. You have to know that."

"And this is the world to which you want to pretend you belong? That would accept such a thing, imprison you for daring to defend yourself?"

"Well…no. Of course not. But that's how it _is_." She focused on the skylight above him, cut into the rock. The sky outside looked grey and foreboding, which was a fine accompaniment to both her mood and her surroundings.

"It doesn't have to be."

Her attention snapped back to him, and she found herself captivated by his expression; utterly serious, a light in his cold blue eyes she'd almost call fanaticism if she thought him capable of such an excess of emotion. "Is that what you're going to tell me you do here? Fight for some better world?"

"Of course it is," he said, as if it should be obvious. "A world where you wouldn't have been subjected to that."

"Magneto, even if mutants were running things, you're telling me that there wouldn't be violence? Rape?" She pulled anxiously on her hair, a habit she tended to fall into when she was nervous.

"I'm telling you that the people around you should have enough _respect_ for you not to try it." He leaned forward. "If that boy had known what you were, what you were capable of…do you think he would   
have _dared_ lay his hands on you?"

"Probably not," she answered him.

"So what is wrong with what we do here, Rogue? Fight for a world where you can be who you are, where you are respected for your abilities instead of hated for them?"

She felt caught by his gaze, and her heart was racing. There was something almost…exhilarating about arguing with him, though maybe that was an unhealthy thing to do. "Because! You're hurting people. You're teaching them to fear us."

"Shouldn't they?"

Taken aback, she stared at him. "What?"

"You're dangerous, aren't you? Certainly you don't lie to yourself about it." He cocked his head thoughtfully at her. "Or is _denial_ what Charles is teaching you these days as a coping mechanism from the big bad world in that school of his?"

"Well…yes," she agreed, wondering if she was falling into some clever trap of his. "I mean, I know I'm dangerous." She decided to leave his words about the Professor alone.

"And do you think that's bad? Tell me the truth," he warned, before she could give voice to the _no_ that hovered on her lips. "Are you ashamed of yourself, for being dangerous? Do you think it's your fault, that it's a curse?"

Rogue dropped her head, unable to speak. She'd thought that a million times, hadn't she, about herself? About her powers? _More a curse than a gift._ "Not all mutants are dangerous." It was a flimsy answer.

"No? I tend to think everyone is dangerous, but perhaps I'm just paranoid."

She gave a little, bitter laugh at that. "I think maybe I could agree with you there."

"Rogue, look at me."

She peeked at him from beneath her hair, her shoulders still hunched forward, as if she was trying to hide.

"Not like some caged animal," he snapped, and she saw anger flash across his face. "Raise your head and look at me."

She did so, straightening her shoulders, looking at him squarely, though she didn't really want to. It was annoying how easily he could make her angry, and then use that to make her do what he wanted.

"Are you dangerous, Rogue?"

"Yes," she said immediately, voice tight. Her fingers flexed in her gloves. _Want me to show you?_

He smiled. "Good. We agree. Do you want me to tell you where we disagree?"

"Sure." She reached up and pushed her hair back behind her ears, and crossed her arms defiantly over Pyro's sweatshirt.

"You see it as a problem. I see it as an asset."

"For what, terrorism?" She made a dismissive noise. "You want to use me to fight for you? Just like everyone wants to use me?" _Like you wanted to use me before?_

He slammed his hand down on his desk, the noise startling her. He'd seemed relatively calm until now—clearly intent upon his argument, but calm. "You should live in a world that respects you for what you _are_. Strong, deadly. _Homo superior_. You should not be at the mercy of the weak—it is not _natural_, don't you see that?"

"I'm not at the mercy—" she began hotly, though at this point she was arguing with him mostly just to argue, because some part of her thought she should at least _try_.

"Oh, but you _are_. Some human who does not possess a tenth of the abilities you do attacked you, and you sat here and told me that you _could have defended yourself some other way_. Why? Why should you have to, when you have been given the gifts that you have?"

"I told you," she bit out, "Because the world—"

"Doesn't accept you," he finished, and leaned forward. "And so you choose to allow that, to give up, let the world do with you what it will. What is it that you told me a moment ago in the dining room? _I'm tired of being at the mercy of everyone else?_"

She was breathing too fast, and her eyes were so dilated the spill of light from the sky coming in through the glass almost hurt. She pressed her fingers to her temple and rubbed, closing her eyes for a moment. "That's what I said."

"If you really mean that, Rogue, then prove it."

"You told me that life is seldom what we would choose it to be," she retorted, opening her eyes to glare at him.

He inclined his head to her. "So I did. If you want something bad enough, you have to be willing to fight for it. To make sacrifices. To take _action_, not just sit around and _hope_ things will get better." 

"That's what I was doing before, with the X-Men. Taking action to make the world a better place, so we would be accepted. Showing humans that we are just like them, that we can help them with our powers." Although, had she really ever done anything in that regard? She was merely a student, not an X-Man, wasn't she?

"Accepted," he repeated, shaking his head. "I fail to see how aiding one's oppressors will do anything that will result in respect." His voice was full of derision. "We are not _just like them_, Rogue. We are superior."

"So, what? Do you really think violence will solve anything?" She had progressed from twisting her hair to twisting her hands together in her lap.

"If I had succeeded in my plan at Alkali, would you have been attacked by that boy in Lewiston?"

"That's not the answer!" she shrieked, pounding her fists on the arm of the chair. "It can't be. You can't just kill them all."

"Obviously not." He said, a touch sarcastically. "I can kill enough of them so that they will learn, eventually."

She stared at him, wondering if he knew how horrible it was to even _think_ that…"I know what happened to you," she said carefully, eyes straying down to his arm. "When you were young. How can you possibly think this is any better?"

He was quiet for a moment before speaking, staring past her. "Haven't you learned yet, Rogue, that there is no way we will be able to _peacefully co-exist_ with humanity? It is either us or them, and I'm hardly going to sit by and do nothing while we're all systematically exterminated. Not again," he muttered.

"But don't you see how that makes you sound?" _Like a monster_.

"Like someone who is tired of being at the mercy of everyone else?" He smiled at her.

"Stop throwing my words back at me," she hissed, furious, unable to think of anything else to say.

"They're not just _your_ words, Rogue. You might have been the last to speak them, but you were hardly the first. They are Gambit's words, and Pyro's, and Mesmero's. And Mystique's. They are _my_ words, Rogue. They are the _Brotherhood's_ words." His voice was almost reverent.

He stood up and approached where she still sat in the chair. "I could show you...convince you that you belong here, to show you that there is another way." He sighed. "I understand what it is like to be at the mercy of those who have none, Rogue, when you have no way to hide who you are. You understand, of course, that you don't? That what happened to you in Lewiston will continue happening to you if you keep trying to hide amongst them?" "

"And then what is there for me, here, if I stay?" She gazed up at him mistrustfully. "How do I know you won't strap me in another death machine and try to kill me?"

"If you remind me of that again, I shall perhaps try harder," he snapped. "I have explained that to you already, and I have precious little desire to explain it yet again. Perhaps, if nothing else, you will at least understand _that_." He raked a hand through his hair, a sure sign of agitation. This obviously bothered him, her continual reminder of his attempted murder, and she wondered why that should be so.

"You will stay here. You will train, and listen, and learn things."

That sounded rather vague. "What kind of things?" she asked dubiously.

He shrugged, leaning back against the desk. "Fighting techniques, the ugly realities of humankind's views towards mutants. Perhaps, if nothing else, you will learn to have pride in what you are."

She stood up on shaking legs, and after taking a deep breath, forced herself to move closer to him. "Pride is a sin," she said lightly, stopping just in front of him

"The only people who say _that_ are those who do not have any," he said blandly. "What are you afraid of, Rogue? That I'm right?"

She bit her lip, considering what he was offering her. It seemed so _final_, staying here, becoming one of them. Was changing her allegiances really the answer to her problems? Did she have any choice?

_I could pretend, at least. Then, when he trusted me, I could make him take off these stupid cuffs, and I could escape. By that point, I'd have learned everything about this place that I would need to know to do it...after all, Magneto's not a telepath. If I'm careful, he'll never know._

When had she become so devious?

_When you realized that was the only way you'd survive?_

"All right," she said slowly, expelling a breath. "I'll stay here." This was a huge gamble, but what other choice did she have?

"Good," he said, a small, pleased smile on his face that sort of made her want to hit him, and held out his hand.

"Is this how Faust felt?" she wondered aloud, which surprised a laugh from him.

"I do not believe his intentions were so noble."

"I don't know that _yours_ are," she answered, but reached her gloved hand out and placed it in his. Touching him—willingly—was very strange. She looked up at him again, her face flushed from anxiety and nerves. "Don't expect me to be buying into all this at once," she warned him. _Then you'd know it was all a lie. I'll have to be careful, and do it over time, so you think it's the truth._

He shook her hand firmly, and she felt the warmth of his hand surrounding her, even through the layers of cloth that separated their skin. "I admit to being unsure what to expect from you at all."

"Did you really just admit to being unsure about something?" She pulled her hand away and smiled a little, without a touch of bitterness.

"Astonishing, isn't it?"

She gave a very small laugh, but stepped away from him, as if she had done something wrong and somehow let her guard down. "Can I please have something else to wear?"

"Yes. I've had Mystique find you appropriate clothing and take it to your room. I'm afraid, Rogue, I'll have to leave the wrist cuffs on. Think of it like a probationary period. When I'm assured you can be trusted, I'll remove them." Suddenly, there was a clicking sound, and her ankle cuffs fell off. She looked at them lying on the floor, then back up at him. "Do not make me regret that," he warned, voice hard.

She nodded, but was unsure what to say, because he looked scary again.

"Now, you remember where your room is, I take it? Good. Go and change your clothes. You will have training with the others, and I'm certain Mystique will explain to you various other assigned duties."

He returned to his desk, and she felt rather foolish standing there. "What um—what will you tell the others?"

"_You_ may tell them whatever you wish," he said, sitting down again. "I shall inform them you are to be treated with courtesy unless you do something to harm them. Outside of training, of course."

_That_ sounded ominous. She turned to go, hoping she had at least a few minutes to compose herself before she was required to start exchanging blows with the Brotherhood. She stood in front of the metal door, but noticed there wasn't a knob. Which meant she wouldn't leave until he let her, and obviously, he wasn't ready for her to go.

"Rogue, I would be interested in hearing what made you leave Charles' school. I won't ask you to speak of it to me—or anyone else—before you are ready to share that information. In addition, I will not share what happened in Lewiston with anyone. Your story is your own until you choose to tell it. Do you understand me?"

She stared at her reflection in the door, slightly warped in the metal. "All right," she agreed, and there was some comfort in his words, that her sordid tale wouldn't be dinner table conversation unless she made it that way. Which, of course, she wouldn't.

The door swung open and she left his study, bemused by what had just happened. _What have I done?_ She waited for the panic to set in, but curiously, as she navigated her way back to her room, she didn't feel any.

_Is that a good sign, or a bad one?_

She remembered his words, _I can kill enough of them, eventually,_ and shuddered. She had to keep in mind what he was capable of, had to make sure she didn't forget.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

For her first training session, Rogue wasn't sure exactly what to expect.

One of the things she'd never been able to do in training was use her powers on her teammates, because of the draining effect that resulted from her doing so—not to mention, she'd have that person in her mind, something the Professor was always trying to keep from happening. The closest she ever got was placing her gloved hand on someone's bare skin and then they had to concede that she'd "gotten" them, rather like tag.

Training with Magneto's Brotherhood, however, was something completely different. This wasn't a simulated battle in the Danger Room. This was _mayhem_. At least, it was for _her_.

Within the first four minutes of her very first training practice, Mystique rushed at her, Pyro threw fire at her, and Gambit tossed something that looked like a playing card sparking with energy directly at her face. She managed to—barely—sidestep Mystique, duck Pyro's fireball, but she took Gambit's attack full on and it knocked her flat on her back.

"Stop," Magneto ordered, and they all moved away from her. Rogue lay on her back, panting, trying to get a handle on the pain before she stood up. She figured they'd all try again, and her only option was to, what? Run around until they all got tired?

Magneto reached down and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. "This is a difficulty. You need your powers to train." He crossed his arms and glared at her, as if she had caused this problem on purpose. The cuffs unclipped from her arms, and hovered next to her in the air. "Take your gloves off."

Rogue pulled her gloves off her hands and then held them wordlessly out to him. This was not the time to try to escape, so she may as well play nice and do what she knew he expected. He took them from her and re-attached the cuffs to her wrists. "These go back on after practice, you understand?"

"Yes," she bit out, avoiding looking at the others.

Rogue flexed her fingers, felt the cold air on her skin, and assumed a fighting stance once more. She didn't know how long these sessions lasted, but she had a bad feeling it was going to seem like _forever_.

"Again," Magneto said firmly, and she turned her attention back to her attackers. Though the others were a bit more careful of her bare hands, it still ended up with her completely outnumbered and on her back within minutes.

_As anyone would be, if the odds were three against one,_ she though, slightly miffed. Mesmero had yet to attack her—she figured he wasn't a very overt fighter, though he could control others and _that_ seemed a pretty powerful advantage. Though he could probably overpower her without his mind-control—he looked quite strong. Rogue was athletic and very quick, but she'd been a few months without training, and it was painfully obvious that she had no experience in fighting with her mutant power.

Luckily, the melee portion of training ended as Magneto wanted to watch her fight with Mystique.

Like Rogue, Mystique had no long-range power and had to rely on physical skill alone in battle. "You'll see Mystique has well learned the defensive nature of her power, like Mesmero, and trained herself to the offensive as well. This is what you'll have to do, Rogue, as you're not a long-range fighter."

_Really? Thanks. I hadn't noticed._

That little lesson ended with Rogue pinned to floor, arms twisted underneath her body. Mystique was a lot stronger than she looked. "Who taught you how to fight?" Mystique asked her, hardly sounding winded at all.

"Logan, mostly," Rogue answered between clenched teeth, refusing to cry out or give voice to her pain.

"Thought so. You're not bad, but I can make you faster," Mystique said, moving off of her. The blue mutant moved like water, all languid grace, and Rogue felt like an old woman next to her as she clumsily pulled herself up off the floor. "It will take a lot of practice, and you'll probably get hurt a lot."

"I figured as much when I agreed to stay here," Rogue said, and Mystique stared at her for a long time, which was unsettling.

"Drink a lot of water," was all the other woman said as she walked back to stand next to Magneto.

Rogue fought well with Pyro and Gambit during partner drills, because they could disarm someone from a distance and then she could move in to fight up close. Pyro knocked Gambit backwards, and Rogue managed to grab onto his hand—his gloves were fingerless—and use her power to bring him down.

She felt a rush of something curiously like excitement when it happened--_for once, I got to use my powers in training. And they worked._

She got a fair dose of Gambit's mind—that his smarmy personality was a disguise for a rather ruthless intelligence, that he was embroiled in some sort of intrigue with his family back in New Orleans and found the Brotherhood convenient for waiting it out. He believed in Magneto's doctrines to an extent, but he had his own agenda, and was smart enough to figure Magneto knew that about him and had his own reasons for letting him stay. Gambit was more pragmatic than Rogue would have thought.

He also thought that she was cute, which sort of made it hard for her to look at him.

"That's a deadly touch you have there, _cherie_," Gambit said good-naturedly, standing up slowly, a small grin on his face. "I hope I'm not too much of an intrusion in that pretty head of yours."

Rogue snorted, but the slight hint of his presence in her mind made her feel a bit more daring than usual. "Gonna let me have a card, thief, and try this out?" She waggled her fingers at him.

Gambit laughed and handed her a card with a mocking little bow. "For you," he said generously, and she rolled her eyes when she saw what card he'd given her. The _Queen of Hearts_. Honestly, did that really work for him? She concentrated on his power, which made her feel jumpy and restless (no wonder he had so much energy, like a puppy), and after infusing the card with it tossed it back to him with a wink.

He sidestepped the explosion neatly and clapped for her.

This amusing exchange was not repeated, however, when she managed to take down Pyro. He was so angry at her, all she felt in her mind was _hate_. He didn't offer her the Zippo, and she didn't ask, merely suffered the _burn_ of him in her mind in silence. It reminded her of Boston. He wouldn't look at her.

Still, she was learning, and she made sure to take mental notes about how they all fought in case she needed this information when she made her escape.

_Gambit goes in fast, after he throws his cards, he's in too much of a rush and he's cocky. But he's really good with that staff, and he can charge that, too. Mesmero fights dirty by making someone else do it for him, but he looks strong even if you do manage to get next to him. Pyro without his damned Zippo is easier to fight hand-to-hand than Mystique, but it will be hard to get past him if he's got the flame out. He's gotten better control since he's been here._

She'd have to figure out Mystique's weakness, and Magneto…she supposed it would be best to somehow render him unconscious from a distance because if there was metal around, it was next to impossible to get near him. In the fortress, of course, there was metal _everywhere_. Which was a daunting thought, considering her plans of escape, but it was only the first day.

Besides training, she had to assume her share of duties, which wasn't really that onerous. She was fine with cleaning, didn't think she'd mind at all watching the camera on surveillance duty, but the thought of her first cooking assignment was terrifying.

Southern women were good cooks, but Rogue figured there had to be exceptions to that rule and that she was probably one of them. While her family was a few generations removed from Italy, her mom still made the best spaghetti and Rogue had helped her enough to remember the recipe. Her kitchen duties at home, however, had been mostly relegated to—"Marie, put the bread in a basket, would you?"

She _could_ bake homemade chocolate chip cookies, but somehow, she didn't see herself doing that anytime soon. She'd made them once, at the Institute, over Christmas when most everyone had gone home.

On Wednesday, she'd showered after training (which was annoying, as she had to find Magneto for him to remove the cuffs, and then he waited outside her bedroom door for her to be finished) and downed four aspirin, then cut off some burned singes of hair and went downstairs to face the kitchen.

There were basic ingredients for spaghetti—thankfully—but she was suddenly unsure of herself. She was used to a recipe that fed three people, not six. _So I should just double everything, then, right?_ She rummaged through the fridge, looking for garlic, beginning to panic. How was she supposed to make spaghetti if there wasn't any _garlic_? She found an onion and grabbed it with relief, searching through the cabinets for a cutting board.

_How hard can this be? It's just spaghetti._

Magneto finally came looking for her an hour later.

"Rogue, we're all curious as to what you are doing in here."

What she had created was more a disaster than dinner. There was a pot on the stove that contained far more pasta than six people could ever possibly eat, and another with a thick red substance that was bubbling threateningly.

"Um, making dinner?" She looked up at him, realizing she must look a mess. She was sweaty and had streaks of red sauce on her gloves. And probably on her face, too.

He looked around doubtfully. "What have you done to my kitchen?" He picked up one of the cooking utensils she'd left on the counter and prodded the noodles. "You've overcooked these, Rogue, by about twenty minutes I'd say." He winced as he examined her pot of sauce. "And this appears far too thick. It looks more like paint."

"What, don't you like soppy noodles and tomato paste?" she demanded, hands on her hips, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking.

"Not especially." He shook his head at her. "Let us see if we can salvage this." He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up and reached for the pot of pasta.

Rogue stared at him warily, not trusting his offer of helpfulness. Catching her expression, he rolled his eyes and carried the noodley mush to the sink. "I would like to eat, too," he said simply, and overturned the pasta into the colander she'd placed in the sink and then carried it over to the trashcan.

"Um, what if I said I'd used all the spaghetti?" she said nervously, flattening herself against the fridge, convinced he was going to pummel her to death with the metal trashcan.

Without a word, he opened the pantry, reached inside, and tossed two boxes of elbow macaroni at her. "Here."

Rogue found the now-empty pot and filled it back up with water, putting it back on the stove and turning the heat to high.

"Now, add some water to that," he instructed, nodding towards her sauce. Still skittish, she filled up a cup and dumped it into the pot. "And for god's sake, turn the heat down."

She complied, watching him nervously, her entire body tense.

"Did you put anything besides tomato paste in there?"

"Some onion." She tried to move surreptitiously backwards, away from him.

"Please tell me you cut it up first?" His voice sounded strained.

"Yes," she said, stung. "I'm not an idiot."

"This does not help convince me otherwise," he informed her, gesturing towards the mess she'd made, and she forgot her fear for a moment and scowled. He didn't appear bothered by it in the least.

He opened a cabinet above the stove and took out some spices. "Garlic. Oregano…these spices are nice in sauce. Rogue, why did you try and cook spaghetti if you don't know how to make it?"

Gritting her teeth, she snatched the garlic powder and upended a fair amount of it into the pot. "I _do_ know how. Mama always used fresh garlic and oregano, and I didn't think you'd have any spices."

"Don't judge our culinary supplies on Pyro's attempts at meals," he said blandly. He reached for the wooden spoon, which was next to her on the counter. In doing so, his hand brushed against her arm lightly, and Rogue made a small, startled sound, jumping backwards instinctively.

He turned her, looking exasperated. "Would you please stop with this nonsense? I'm not going to kill you. I just need the spoon." He picked it up. "See? Now get back here and watch me, so that we don't have to have this lesson again."

Rogue stayed where she was. "I---I'm sorry, I just can't relax around you," she said honestly, twisting her hands together.

"I see that. Could you at least stop acting like I'm going to do something nefarious every time I look at you? We're on the same side now, aren't we?" His tone was measured as he stirred the sauce, which _did_ look much better.

_No,_ Rogue thought vehemently, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to return to where he was standing. "I'll—I'll try. Should I add the pasta?"

"Is the water boiling?" he asked, as if speaking to a toddler. "Then I would suspect so."

Rogue resisted the urge to upend the boiling water over his head, and opened the box of pasta with a lot more force than was necessary. She added both boxes to the water then reached out to turn the heat down. That was her problem last time, apparently.

"I think I need another pair of gloves," she said, looking down at hers. She wrinkled her nose, reminded of waiting tables at the diner and how she'd thrown away more gloves in that small span of time than in the whole time she'd been at Xavier's.

"You must go through a lot of those," he said idly, looking down at her hands.

"I buy them on clearance right after winter," she said suddenly, then blushed. What was she doing?

"That makes sense. Mystique does the shopping—just let her know if need more." He walked to the sink to wash his hands.

"Okay." Rogue looked around the kitchen. "So, I guess the pasta will be ready and then everyone can have dinner." She would like to have another shower and then go to bed, and just skip dinner entirely.

"That is usually the way these things work," he said solemnly. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Rogue winced, knowing what he was expecting her to say. "Thank you for helping me," she intoned perfunctorily, with all the enthusiasm of a corpse on the way to its grave.

He laughed. "Oh, why, you're welcome. Such a gracious young lady you are," he said, and her expression darkened.

"I didn't _ask_--" she began hotly, but he raised his hand.

"Stop, please. The last thing I am interested in is watching you throw a tantrum. You're an adult—you should act like one," he chastised her, and she really, really wanted to hit him with something, but he was probably right.

She took a very deep breath. "Fine. Thank you for saving dinner, and I promise I'll do all the dishes."

He gazed at her thoughtfully. "It is Pyro's night to do the dishes."

She snorted. "You think I want him to have to do the dishes after this? No thank you. He hates me enough as it is," she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She realized she was probably getting tomato sauce on the white, which was embarrassing. _I can't win._

He narrowed his eyes shrewdly, but merely turned away and took up the pan of water. "Tell everyone dinner is ready."

She paused before leaving the kitchen, watching him carry the pan over to the sink. Her eyes were drawn to the bare skin of his arm, on which she saw the small blue numbers tattooed on his skin as he emptied the pasta into the colander.

Her mouth opened, but she wasn't sure what she was going to say, so she turned instead and left the kitchen, silent.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Rogue's first few weeks in the Brotherhood were definitely a learning experience. 

It wasn't that everything was horrible—it was just so _different_. Rogue was used to being in classes, for one thing, and they didn't exactly do that here. She was expected to learn things—even to read books—but there were no exams and she didn't have to write any papers.

She did, however, have to learn how to wire bombs and diffuse them in a time limit. Which was a lot more stressful, when she thought about it, than writing a paper the night before it was due had ever been.

She'd likened the Brotherhood to the military, and it was definitely not far from it. There was a sense of familial togetherness occasionally, but it was never forgotten that they were there for a _purpose_, and that purpose governed everything they did.

Rogue supposed that had been true at the Institute, to a point, but there she'd been a student first, and an X-Man-in-training second. Here there was no such distinction, no such thing as a "trainee." At the Institute, the Professor had a staff of teachers who had meetings to discuss curriculum; here, Magneto's word was law.

There were things she liked about it, if she were honest. She liked being treated like an adult, for one, liked the fact there weren't things going on that she didn't know about. She was expected to agree with whatever plans were in the works, of course, because if she didn't then why was she there? There was no room here for uncertainty. 

There were times that it was hard for her to hold her tongue when she was listening to Magneto,  
because he said a lot of things that made her want to argue with him—though she rarely did, as he always had an answer to whatever objection she might raise, and it was easier just to be quiet. Sometimes, though, he said things that made _sense_, and she would have to remind herself she wasn't there to be a convert because she almost found herself nodding along in agreement.

_You're only supposed to pretend,_ she would remind herself sternly. _And even if he's right about humanity, that doesn't mean his methods of dealing with them are._

Training was still difficult, though she was a fast learner and her individual practices with Mystique were certainly paying off. Those were often two hours of exhaustion followed by an hour of Mystique's lectures on technique accompanied by intensive, painful stretching. There was no denying her technique was becoming sharper, more focused.

Rogue had always thought Mystique was devious and heartless, but she began to see another side to the woman as they trained. She _was_ devious, that was for certain, but it was probably because she _had_ to be to survive. However, she was passionately devoted to both Magneto and his cause, which was evident even in the few conversations they had while training, which led Rogue to rethink the _heartless_.

"You're getting better," Mystique told her one day, and then tossed a bottle of water at her. "Quicker. You'll be good, when we're done. You aren't afraid to work hard."

Rogue had felt herself smiling, pleased, and she couldn't find it within herself to mind that she'd just basked under the praise of her former enemy. In fact, she realized her training sessions with Mystique were the most enjoyable of part of her new day. If nothing else, no one would ever lay a hand on her again without her permission, and if she was even _half_ as good a fighter as Mystique, she'd be a force to be reckoned with.

The others weren't exactly friendly, but they didn't go out of their way to make her life miserable, either. Except for Pyro, who seemed to determine to be as unpleasant to her as possible without being openly hostile.

In training he inevitably went after her first thing, and the number of times he'd thrown a fireball at her after Magneto had indicated the training session was over were too numerous to count.

She never said a word about that, or his barbed comments about her cooking skills (really, she probably deserved those), or the way he left the kitchen a mess after dinner when she had to clean up after him, or his refusal to speak to her if they happened to be alone in a room together. If he was trying to goad her into attacking him, she refused to let him. It was juvenile.

Rogue was confused by his behavior, though she wasn't sure what she should do about it. She and John had been friends of a sort at the Institute (as much as you can be friends with your boyfriend's best friend), but everything had changed in Boston. He'd barely been able to look at her after she'd touched him and absorbed his power—and with it, his memories. 

He'd not spoken much to her on the jet after what had happened at Bobby's house, but then again, everything had been so crazy she'd not had time to think much about it. It wasn't until they'd been setting up in the camp that she noticed he wouldn't look at her.

At first she'd thought he was angry because she'd stopped him from causing any more destruction, but it wasn't until later that night that she'd realized what it was that was making him avoid her.

She and Bobby had been trying to light the camp lantern with little success. Pyro had been unnaturally quiet, sitting a few feet away from them, staring off into the darkness. Rogue had been annoyed because he wasn't helping them, as it would only take him a second to do what they'd been trying for five minutes to accomplish.

"You know, you _could_ help," she'd called over to him, irritated. The flame had sparked and lit the lamp, though he'd not said a word or even looked over at them. Rogue had glared at him and walked away, but she'd seen him glance towards Bobby, and then...she'd just _known_ how he'd been attracted to Bobby, and he really, really didn't want her (or anyone, really) to know.

They never had a chance to discuss it, because Pyro had left with Magneto and they'd gone home without him, and Rogue had never seen the point in the telling Bobby what she'd inadvertently learned about his best friend in Boston. He'd never have understood, not when he was still so hurt about his parents and his brother.

Rogue figured that was why Pyro seemed so angry at her now, though she wished she could just tell him that she could care less who he was attracted to, that it didn't matter, and then maybe he'd stop being such an _ass_ to her all the time. It was tiresome to deal with him, and she enough on her mind as it was.

Besides, it wasn't like she was all that comfortable with the rest of them, either.

Mesmero was still creepy, and she was worried he was going to try and control her mind and make her do something horrible, or at the very least embarrassing, as some sort of bizarre hazing ritual. He made her nervous, as he was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, so that she was never sure what he was thinking.

She had a new respect for Gambit after that brief insight into his mind, though he still went out of his way to overdo it on the charming and it set her teeth on edge.

While she felt like she had a tentative understand with Mystique, she was far from friendly, and Magneto...

It was hard to remain in mortal terror of someone when you saw them all the time, when they fixed breakfast on Sundays and explained how to read GPS coordinates. Gradually she was able to relax a little around him, which was a substantial improvement from the first night she'd arrived, unable to look him in the eye.

He met with her once a week in his uncomfortable office, where she would sit in that same chair across from his desk and answer his questions. He usually just inquired if she was well, if there was anything she needed that Mystique could pick up from town, and sometimes, he'd lean back in his chair and ask her, "Do you like it here, Rogue?"

She never could make herself say _yes_. "I'm fine," she'd respond, perfectly polite, and he'd wave his hand to dismiss her. She wondered if he was on to her, if he suspected she was planning an escape. He never even alluded to the idea, and honestly, she was too tired most of the time at night to come up with a good escape plan anyway.

She usually just fell asleep somewhere in the middle of designing it. 

Magneto never offered to remove the cuffs. She never asked him to, though she would often think about what she would have to do to earn his trust enough for him to offer. Images of explosions danced in her brain, and she wondered what the price of her eventual freedom would be.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Occasionally they had leisure time, though it wasn't very often, and it was usually Saturday nights.  
Mystique did all the shopping on Saturdays, and it was also her night to cook, which she was very good at. In fact, it was usually the best meal of the entire week, which meant everyone ate too much and ended up sleepy.

Pyro and Gambit usually played video games after dinner, Mystique knitted (that had surprised Rogue, but she was smart enough not to say a word about it), and Mesmero liked to read spy novels. Magneto either read the newspaper Mystique brought back for him or was nowhere to be found.

Rogue usually took the opportunity to do her laundry, since no one else was usually using the machines and she could wash all her clothes and her sheets and towels, too. She also tried to read books that had nothing to do with electronics, psychology, or explosives, finding an escape in fiction that she remembered from when she was younger.

The only problem was they had a limited library of things to read. Seeing her perusing the available titles, Magneto had handed her a copy of _The Handmaid's Tale_. That sort of took the entertainment value away because he obviously wanted her to learn something from it, but she read it anyway. It had been so frightening, however, that she'd borrowed Mesmero's spy novels when he was finished with them instead of letting Magneto suggest any more books.

On one such occasion, she was carrying her laundry downstairs and walked past Gambit, who was headed towards the kitchen. He gave her his usual sly grin when he saw her. "Sort of makes us feel bad, _cherie_, you'd pick laundry over us."

Rogue looked askance at him over the top of her basket, following him into the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"The movie. Pyro told us you said you had something better to do than watch it with us." He took a bottle of Red Stripe out of the fridge. "You want one?"

"No," Rogue said carefully, eyes down. Pyro had, of course, never mentioned anything to her about a movie. "I'll just…um, finish this." She quickly left the kitchen and headed towards the laundry room, trying not to be upset about being excluded.

It wasn't as if she _wanted_ to spend time with them, but…

She hated feeling left out.

Rogue put her laundry in the washing machine, but she didn't want to go back in and give in to the temptation to join the rest of them for the movie. She wasn't supposed to like it here, anyway, so what did it matter?

_It does matter, though. Can't I fit in anywhere?_

Scowling, Rogue made her way back upstairs, but instead of going in her room she went to the end of hallway and up a second staircase, which led to a small observatory. It was a simple round room with Plexiglas walls, affording a 360 degree view of the horizon, some high-powered telescopic device in the center for surveillance. Rogue headed towards the metal door that opened to reveal the smallest of patios, which was one of the few places one could go to be outside. The fortress had no beach, and the only entrance was through the boat slip or the helicopter pad. The latter was a bit too far up for her tastes, and besides, Rogue still hated heights. The little crow's nest was bad enough, but she was willing to risk it for a few moments alone outside.

She felt relatively safe on the little patio, surrounded as it was by a high metal ledge. She leaned against it, resting her elbows on the top, shivering a little in the wind. It was a clear night, and the sky was bright with stars. The nearly-full moon was bright enough to afford her a view of the water. Maybe she'd see a whale or something.

"You're not watching the movie?"

Rogue jumped, startled, and turned to see Magneto leaning against the metal ledge, arms crossed over his chest. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed he was there. "I'm sorry…I didn't know anyone was out here," she said quietly.

"You're allowed to be out here," he said, shrugging. "There's room enough for two people."

He took a step towards her, which caused her to immediately panic and cry out, "Don't!" Her gloved hands flew up to cover her face on instinct.

"Rogue!" He stopped, perplexed. "What on earth is the matter?"

She lowered her hands, forcing herself to inhale deeply. She didn't want to tell him what the problem was, why she was suddenly so afraid, because she didn't want to annoy him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking out towards the water. "It was—I'm sorry."

He was quiet for a moment as he put together the reason for her sudden outburst. "Ah. I imagine it's an unpleasant memory."

She turned towards him, surprised. He'd sounded….sympathetic, almost. She said carefully, "I know why you did it. I even know that you didn't want to. But you still did it."

He nodded, moving so that he was standing next to her. "I know. It is hardly a comforting thought, I'm sure, but I did not intend for you to have to live with the memory of it."

He was right—that wasn't really very comforting at all. She pushed her hair back, fighting against the wind, which was determined to make her look like Medusa. "Look, I'm really trying, okay? It's just…it's hard, sometimes."

"I know it is, Rogue."

"Do you know, when Logan was up there…part of me didn't want to let go. That was the worst part." She stared down at her hands. "That's the part I never told anybody. That I was screaming, and it…it hurt, but I didn't want to let go."

"That was me, I imagine," he said wryly.

She nodded. "Yeah. That, and…." She forced herself to look at him. "When I asked the Professor what had happened to you, after I'd…recovered, he told me about how you were sent to prison."

Something dark and unpleasant shadowed his features briefly as she watched, though it was soon gone and his face returned to its normal lines. He was a handsome man—she wondered how she'd never noticed that before.

_Because you were terrified of him, and all you ever saw when you looked at him was a monster._

"And did that make you feel safe, to know I was all locked up in a plastic cage?"

Strangely, the vicious tone in his voice didn't scare her, because could she blame him? "No," she said quietly. "I went to my room and cried. I thought it was horrible." She reached out and ran her fingers over the top of the metal ledge.

"Did you?" His eyes were following the motion of her fingers, trailing back and forth over the smooth surface.

"Yes. Logically, I knew why they had to do it, but I had enough of you left in my head to understand why it was so…awful." This was the closest she'd ever been to him, but strangely, it wasn't bothering her.

"I've been in worse places," he said tightly.

She winced. "I know. I saw that, too." She pushed away from the ledge. "I have to go get my laundry and put it in the dryer."

"It takes a very strong person, Rogue, to do what you've done. To forgive someone for trying to kill you—even if you understand the reasons behind it, as you say—that's quite an accomplishment. Especially for someone so young."

Rogue turned back to him when she reached the door. "I'm not as young as everyone thinks I am. At least, not up here." She tapped her head with a gloved finger and smiled briefly. "Who said that I forgave you, anyway?"

"Isn't that what this little conversation was about?"

"Maybe. I guess. But just 'cause I might forgive you, doesn't mean I'm going to forget." Rogue crossed her arms and gave him a fierce stare. "Just so you know."

He smiled. "I would think something was wrong with you if you _did_ forget." He waved his hand, and the door leading inside opened. "Sometimes it's hard to open in the wind."

"Thanks," she said, meeting his gaze briefly before she turned away, feeling strangely as if a weight had been lifted.

Rogue went downstairs, transferred her laundry to the dryer, then found the others watching some inane action flick in the rec room, which was the only place in the entire fortress with comfortable furniture.

"Finished all my important tasks," she said levelly, giving Pyro a challenging look as she sat down in one of the empty chairs, legs over the side. She reached behind her and tugged the blanket off the back of the chair, pulling it over her. "What are we watching?"

Mystique looked up from her knitting, a little smile on her face, but said nothing. "_Die Hard_," Gambit answered, filling her in on what she'd missed. She'd seen it before, but she didn't stop him from telling her. Pyro stood up and left, slamming the door behind him as he did so.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Rogue was _not_ having a good day.

That morning, she'd woken up late, and it was her turn to make breakfast. She'd tried to shower quickly, but everyone must have been up before her because the tank ran out of hot water when she still had shampoo in her hair. She'd still been shivering when she finally made it down to the kitchen.

Rogue was still not a very good cook, so for breakfast she generally made toast and put out cereal. Once, she'd been inspired and made cheese bagels, which everyone had looked at rather doubtfully because the only cheese they'd had was pepper jack and it was six-thirty a.m.

Mystique had eaten two. "I like pepper jack," she said, shrugging. Everyone else had opted for cereal.

Today, she noticed they were out of cereal, which she should have made note of before now so she could have planned for something else.

She found some bacon in the fridge and tried to fix that, but ended up nearly burning herself and frying the bacon to something resembling cinders. Wrinkling her nose, she disposed of the bacon and went to wash the pan.

"Dude, you are like, the absolute most incompetent cook I've ever seen in my life," Pyro drawled, sauntering into the kitchen right as she finished cleaning out the pan.

"Yeah, well, I have other talents," she muttered, maniacally searching through the pantry to find something edible.

"Oh? We gonna see them anytime soon?"

Rogue whirled around to glare at him. "You have a reason to be in here, Pyro?"

"Breakfast?"

"It ain't ready yet," Rogue snapped, grateful the smoke from the bacon debacle had cleared. With relief, she found a pack of bagels in the pantry.

"Wow, that looks good. Can we have some toast with the bagels?"

"You know, it's not like you're Emeril freakin' Lagasse," she muttered, arranging the bagels on the plate.

"Must suck to be you. Can't cook, can't touch anyone...Drake must be _so_ sorry you're gone."

Rogue felt like he'd just slapped her. "Probably sorrier than he was when _you_ left." Her voice was shaking with rage.

Just then, the door opened, and Magneto entered. "I was hoping you hadn't tried to actually cook this morning, Rogue, and then I thought I smelled smoke—is something the matter?" He looked from her furious face to Pyro, who was watching her with a little smile and narrowed eyes.  
"She went after me."

"What!" Rogue slammed the butter dish down on the counter. "I did no such thing. What would I have done, rubbed my face on you?" 

"Just kidding," he said. "She's a perfect little angel, our Rogue." He turned and left the kitchen, and she heard him loudly address the rest as he entered the dining room. "Guys better forget about breakfast. We're out of cereal and Rogue tried to cook."

"Is there a problem, Rogue?" Magneto asked her, drawing her attention back to him.

"Oh, sure, it's _my_ fault," she said, irrational, separating the bagels with brutal efficiency.

"I didn't say anything was your fault," Magneto said slowly, then moved behind her. His hand closed over her wrist. "Stop destroying the bagels, and go sit down."

Humiliated, she shot him a look before snatching her arm out of his grasp and leaving the kitchen. She sat in her chair, scowling.

"What'd you try and cook?" Gambit asked her. He sniffed cautiously.

"Bacon." 

Pyro looked like he was going to say something, but just then Magneto reappeared with a plate of bagels. "A light breakfast this morning, it appears."

She'd been so furious, she'd barely managed to choke down a cup of coffee (the one thing she _could_ make) and half a bagel, and only then because she knew she'd need something to eat before training to keep her strength up.

Maybe she'd get rid of her anger after some good, physical exercise. She refused to speak during breakfast, and easily discerning her mood, no one tried to talk to her.

Unfortunately, training was just as horrid as the rest of her morning.

She was partners with Pyro, which sort of made her want to cry, but she tried to put her feelings aside and concentrate on their training.

However, she was still too agitated from her morning and fell prey to Mesmero, who hypnotized her far too easily, and then Gambit knocked her feet from underneath her with his staff without having to even _charge_ it.

Pyro had been _furious_.

"So you're just as bad at fighting as you are with cooking, is that it?" he shouted, hands on his hips, glaring at her as she struggled to regain her breath.

"God, Rogue, if we're ever out on a mission and that happens--"

"I don't think Mesmero will try and hypnotize me," she snapped, stretching, trying to get rid of the cramp in her side.

"Enough," Magneto said, voice tight with warning, and she and Pyro glared at each other but fell silent.

It might have been all right, she might have been able to forget it, if he hadn't done that stupid little trick of his with the flames right after Magneto called for them to stop.

Usually she was able to get out of the way. Today, she was a fraction of a second too slow and the flames hit her still uncovered hand, burning her very badly.

"I am going to _kill you_," she shrieked, the pain horrible and immediate, and then without thinking she launched herself at him, bare hands out, wanting to wrap them around his throat and _squeeze_.

"Stop it!" 

Magneto used his power to stop her, throwing her backwards and halting her murderous charge. She glared down at the metal cuffs on her wrists.

Pyro laughed, which was stupid, because Magneto was staring at him unpleasantly when he spoke. "The two of you will come with me _now_."

That was the tone of voice you didn't argue with. Rogue cradled her injured hand to her chest and followed him out of the training area and back towards his study. He opened the door with a jerk, which clearly indicated his displeasure.

"I do not know what the problem is with the two of you, and I do not care. I want it resolved, now. Do you both understand me?" His glare was fierce.

Rogue nodded, fearful, because he looked very scary. She was also ashamed of herself for doing exactly what Pyro had wanted, by giving in to her temper.

"And you?"

She assumed Pyro nodded, but she wouldn't look at him so she didn't know for sure.

"Good. Now this will be fixed by the time I come back, or I promise you that you will _not_ like the consequences. I am fighting a war, not running a daycare." He strode past them and shut them in with an angry slam of the door.

They were both silent for a little while, staring off into different directions. Rogue really wanted something to stop the burning on her hand, and the pain was making her dizzy.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she demanded, turning to glare at his back. "What the hell did I ever do to you?"

He turned to face her, face closed and unfriendly, and didn't answer.

"This is about Boston, isn't it? Is it revenge? Fine. Can you just tell me what you need to do to feel like you've gotten it? Humiliate me, kill me, get me kicked out? Cause I'm sick of you." She collapsed in one of the metal chairs, blowing on her hand. She was surprised Magneto had left her without her gloves on. The pain of the burn made her stomach sick and her eyes tear up, but she would not give Pyro the satisfaction of crying over the wound he'd inflicted.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he spoke.

"Did you ever tell him?"

She looked up at that. "No."

He snorted. "Right."

"I didn't!" She searched his face. "Why would I?"

"To make him hate me." His words were flat.

"He already hated you, because of Boston," she said honestly. She was too angry at him to spare his feelings.

"That was his stupid brother's fault," Pyro snapped, arms wrapped around himself.

"Well, yeah, but all they remember is the fire and the exploding police cars." She watched him. "Pyro, I never told him. Or anyone else, either. You might not believe me, but I have no reason to lie to you."

"Yeah, you do." He was staring up at the ceiling. "If I believed you then maybe I'd stop bothering you so much."

She rolled her eyes. Did he not hear how childish he sounded? "Fine. Don't believe me."

"Why wouldn't you have? I mean, everybody must hate me there anyway," he muttered, but she noticed he was moving closer to her. He had to still have his Zippo—no way Magneto would have taken it away, if he'd not made her put her gloves on. "You could've all had a laugh."

"Believe it or not, not everything was about _you_ when we got back. The mansion was trashed, and Dr. Grey was dead, and Bobby's parents didn't want much to do with him. We sort of had our hands full."

"Nice to know I was so easily forgotten." He sounded petulant, and it pissed her off.

"He missed you, Pyro. He didn't clean up your side of the room until he had to. He kept your comic books and your box of Dr. Pepper in the closet. If you asked him for one, he'd say it was too old and no one should drink it, but he never threw it away." She wondered why she was even trying. "I could tell he was upset. So I never said anything."

"So you were, what? Looking out for me? You never even liked me all that much." He was right next to her, looking down at her.

"I had my own reasons for not telling him," she said, looking away. "And you never acted like you liked me, either." Of course, reasons for _that_ were a bit clearer, now.

"Yeah? Like what?" he demanded, and she saw then how much this meant to him in his expression, and some of her anger dissipated.

"I was already inadequate, as you so nicely reminded me this morning. His girlfriend couldn't sleep with him, but his best friend would have?" She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to keep that one to myself for a while." Wincing, she blew on her hand again.

"That wouldn't have mattered. He's not even...give me your hand," he said, switching the subject.

"Pyro, remember what my bare skin does?" Strangely, as angry as she'd been at him, she didn't want to hurt him.

"Just give me your hand, okay?" He sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything. If you absorb my power for a minute, the burn will stop hurting as bad. I don't know why, but it does. Guess cause sometimes I make mistakes when I practice and it's something my body does because of my mutation."

She held her hand up, cautiously, and he carefully held it in his own. After a few moments, she felt the pull, and then a rush of warmth as his power flowed into her. Sure enough, the pain in her hand seemed to fade in intensity.

"I have some stuff you can put on it when Magneto lets us out of here." He pulled over another chair and sat down across from her, his face pale from the drain.

Rogue was lost for a moment in his mind, and his thoughts seemed to be centered around her—his insecurity that she would mock him, tell everyone here what she knew. In addition to that, there was his fear that while he'd left the Institute only to save his own skin, she'd left it for more noble reasons that would win her more favor.

She laughed a little. "Oh, Pyro, I didn't leave for noble reasons. Believe me. And you don't have to worry. I don't go around telling stuff about people."

He shrugged, his color returning. Her burn was starting to hurt again as his powers gradually receded.

"You want me to--" 

She shook her head. "Nah. I'll be okay."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Rogue," he said, and she could tell he was sincere, and that the apology was hard for him. "It's just that I was away from all of that, here. And then you showed up, and..."

"I understand," she said, because she did. "I had to do that, what I did in Boston, Pyro. I'm sorry that I violated your privacy, but I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Yeah. You still think that?" He crossed his legs, stacking one foot on top of the other, hands behind his head.

She shrugged. "Don't know. Would have depended on the collateral damage and if it would have been easier to wreck less havoc and escape, or just kill everyone and steal a car." She winced. "I never would have said _that_ three months ago." Whether or not she believed it, she wasn't sure.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the Brotherhood." He smiled at her, and this time, it was real.

"Thanks," she said, and laughed. "Who would have ever thought we'd end up here?"

"Who would have thought that about _me_?" He laughed. "Probably everybody. You...that's a different story."

"It's always the quiet ones," she said ominously, and he laughed. 

Something else occurred to her, and she spoke without thinking. "I've never thought that way about Gambit. I promise. And I got a good dose of him in my head, and he thought I was cute, but he's..." she saw Pyro's face and blushed. "Um, oops," she said weakly.

"Was I thinking about that?" he asked, and he was blushing, too.

"No, but...you sort of watch him," she said, things making sense now. "And you had...part of you being annoyed with me has something to do with me being with men you--"

"Right," Pyro said quickly, looking around uncomfortably. "Can we not...do I really? Watch him?" He looked at her curiously.

For some reason, that made her smile, and she nodded. "Yeah."

"Like you do with Magneto?"

"_What_?" Startled, she gaped at him. "Please say that was a joke."

"Uh, no." He grinned at her. "You do it a lot."

"No, I--" but she stopped, because she _did_. "Pyro, that's only because--" she started earnestly, but he was laughing and then the door opened.

Seeing that it was Magneto, both of them jumped to their feet immediately to face him.

"You appear to have worked out whatever your issues were, I see." He turned his gaze towards Pyro. "No more attacking Rogue with stray flames, I imagine?"

"No, sir," Pyro said, surprising her. She'd never heard Pyro so respectful of authority like that in the entire time she'd known him. Maybe this place _was_ good for him.

Magneto turned towards her. "And you? You won't be wrapping those pretty hands of yours around Pyro's neck again?" He quirked a brow at her.

"No, sir," Rogue said, unconsciously echoing Pyro's words.

"Then I have soldiers again, instead of children?"

"Yes, sir," they both answered.

He looked pleased. "Good. Rogue, you need something for your burn."

"I have some burn cream in my room. I'll go get it," Pyro offered, and at Magneto's nod headed out of the room.

"Let me see your hand," Magneto instructed.

"Wh—why?" she looked at him curiously.

"What happened to _yes, sir_?" he asked, reaching for her hand. His own were gloved. "Come now. Let me see."

"It's not..." she sighed and gave up, placing her hand in his. Heat suffused her face, and she absolutely blamed Pyro. How could he even _think_ she...

His thumb brushed lightly over the spot where the burn was, and she gasped, her eyes going up to meet his.

"Did that hurt?" he asked her, and there was a tone to his voice she'd not heard him use before. It made her nervous, but in a way she wasn't at all used to, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

_Oh, God._

Suddenly unable to speak, she shook her head. They looked at each other for a moment, then moved away simultaneously, and neither of them said a word until Pyro returned with the ointment and a bandage, handing both items over and leaving them alone once more.

She spread the cream liberally on her burn, and then wrapped it in the plain cotton bandage. Magneto undid the metal cuffs and handed over her gloves. "There you are."

She pulled them on and held her hands out wordlessly, waiting for the cuffs.

He paused, his eyes narrowed. "You've been here three months," he said.

She nodded. "That sounds right."

"And do you like it here, Rogue?" he asked softly, the metal cuffs hovering next to her arms.

"Yes," she answered, dropping her gaze. He had to have heard the shame in her voice as she answered.

"Perhaps you'll be able to admit that without sounding as if you're to be executed in the morning because of it." The cuffs snapped around her wrists, anchoring the gloves in place, and he turned on his heel and left her there, alone.

It occurred to her as she stood there that she'd missed the perfect opportunity to escape. She could have grabbed Pyro, absorbed more of his power, and surprised Magneto when he'd come through the door.

The problem was, Rogue was becoming more and more unsure that she wanted to leave at all. She still wasn't wholly convinced that what Magneto advocated was right, but she hadn't lied to him—she _did_ like it here.

Her fingers lightly caressed the metal cuffs on her arm, and she stared up at the skylight. The sky beyond the glass was a perfect, bright blue.


	14. Chapter 14

** AN: I did a lot of research on prisons, weaponry, and firing quadrants for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing! We're nearing the end, I do believe, and I'm really hopeful that you will all stick around when the story gets a bit more shippy :) I know the pairing is not for everyone, so I appreciate y'all giving it a chance! Anyway, onward to the chapter! Sionnain  
**

**Chapter 14**

The downside to having worked things out with Pyro was that Rogue was growing more and more comfortable in her new surroundings, and that was making her a little concerned about what she should do—should she stay here, or should she continue with her half-formed ideas of escape?

It wasn't that things were perfect, because they weren't. Her life was becoming increasingly regimented, and while that was good for training, oftentimes she wanted to rebel against the restrictions that were imposed because of it. She was beginning to feel disconnected with reality, a little, being so cut-off from what was happening in the world. Sometimes she wanted to steal the boat and escape to the mainland, but only to remember what being part of the world felt like.

There were occasional tensions between some of the others, as was to be expected. Gambit had an unfortunate habit of trying to make inappropriate jokes without thinking—Mystique knocked him on his back once for teasing Mesmero about his strange appearance. Gambit had blamed Mesmero and accused the other mutant of hypnotizing Mystique, and then Mystique had knocked him down _again_, so Gambit had apologized.

Pyro was moody, which tended to grate on Magneto's nerves. Which may have been because Magneto acted as if he expected them all to have transcended normal human emotions, or maybe it was that Pyro _could_ be really irritating.

Rogue could deal with Pyro's moodiness and Gambit's flippancy, and even Mesmero's penchant for trying to catch her off guard and hypnotize her. It only _really_ irritated her if she was trying to cook, because she didn't need anymore obstacles in the kitchen.

Usually, though, she liked Mesmero. He wasn't very talkative, but he had a dry sort of humor that she found amusing. He didn't care too much for attention and was usually quiet in a group, which she could appreciate. She also was enjoying reading his spy novels, and she liked his stories about working in carnival, about the people he'd met. He'd led an interesting life.

Magneto and Mystique often seemed to have a strange sort of tension between them that Rogue had always assumed was because they were lovers, but Pyro told her they weren't anymore. He'd looked pointedly at Mystique and then made a motion towards Mesmero and Rogue had been more than a little shocked.

_No wonder she was so mad that Gambit made fun of him._ Obviously, she wasn't the only one who found Mesmero interesting.

As for Magneto, she _did_ notice herself watching him more than would care to admit. One night, when she'd discovered to her horror that they didn't have spaghetti ingredients, he'd tried to help her fix chili. She'd been so nervous around him that she kept dropping things, which was strange, because she generally wasn't afraid of him anymore.

She'd even fought him, once. He'd taken her cuffs off and while she managed to get in close, he'd still been able to physically subdue her. "Don't underestimate me," he'd said seriously, letting her go and re-attaching the cuffs.

"Trust me, I don't," she assured him, and her heart was racing for at least ten minutes afterwards.

It was really rather ridiculous. She couldn't be…there was no way she was _attracted_ to him, was there? Obviously it had to be something else, because that just wasn't _possible_. He was dangerous, and a lot older than her, besides.

_Maybe that's what you like._

That wasn't a very reassuring thought at _all_.

Regardless of the occasional unpleasantness that naturally came from a small group of people sharing relatively close quarters, things were progressing rather smoothly. Rogue sometimes thought about telling Magneto why she'd left the Institute and having him remove those stupid metal cuffs, but every time she tried to get up her nerve, something would stop her.

She'd remember what he advocated, what he was training them to do, and it would stop her in her tracks. She might like it here, she might even find herself agreeing with him more and more, but she could never seem to take that final step and ally herself with him for good. Despite having been there nearly five months, they'd done nothing but train, and while Rogue might have wanted to convince herself that was all they'd _ever_ do, she knew it wasn't true.

Sooner or later, they'd put all this training to practical use, and _that_ was the part she was worried about. She lived in dread of the day they were given a mission, and as the weeks passed, she began to get the uneasy feeling that one was imminent.

The first hint was when Mystique left. Rogue had asked idly where she'd gone at lunch one day, and Pyro had shrugged and said it was likely on some intelligence-gathering foray for their next assignment.

Rogue had suddenly lost her appetite and been unable to finish her sandwich.

When Mystique reappeared a few days later, Rogue was almost certain they were going to be mobilized to do something. She found it hard to sleep, images of explosions haunting her dreams, visions of having to hunt and kill her former friends tormenting her.

One morning after breakfast, Magneto informed them they were to meet for a briefing in the study in twenty minutes.

She'd nervously swallowed the last of her coffee and remained quiet as the others made small talk, wondering how they could act so…unaffected…by what they were surely going to be ordered to do.

They filed silently into the study, where there was a large projector and a screen set up, chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of the screen. The lights went off, and Rogue sat in her chair with her arms wrapped around herself. Was this going to be so horrible it would force her to try and escape, tonight, without a good enough plan to do anything but bring Magneto's ire down upon her?

The projector flashed a picture of what looked to be a prison on the screen, the building surrounded by barbed-wire fencing and guard towers. "This is the Connecticut State Mutant Detainment Center," Magneto said, his voice tight. "Our next target."

Rogue's brow furrowed at that. _Mutants_?

"It's a former prison, though it had been abandoned for many years. The State of Connecticut decided to re-open it to house so-called 'dangerous' Mutant prisoners." Magneto grimaced. "If the pilot program does well, many other states are vowing to establish similar detainment centers.  
Many of the mutants imprisoned have little control over their powers, and several of their incarcerations therein were highly debatable."

He flashed quickly through the pictures, which highlighted a variety of mutants with potentially deadly powers, listed in very clinical phrasing beneath their images.

_Super strength. Ability to cause earthquakes. Metal tentacles. Ability to control bone-structure growth and shoot projectile spikes. Ability to remove water from the human body._ The list continued, but one thing Rogue noticed was many of the Mutants currently being held in the Center would be highly unlikely to pass as human, for one reason or another.

"The prison is currently housing these twenty-five mutants. They expect the facility to be ready to handle upwards of five hundred when renovations to the cells are complete. They need _special_ modifications, you see."

The screen now showed a cell outfitted with barbed wire and spikes, and other with a low hum of electricity around it. "Each cell is specialized for each mutant, depending on their powers." His face looked dangerous.

Rogue winced, looking away from the screen. It seemed so _barbaric_. She looked down at her hands and shuddered.

"So we're going to bust them out?" This from Pyro, sprawled in the chair next to her.

Magneto nodded. "Mystique has gathered the necessary intelligence on how it can be done. We will liberate the mutants and raze the place to the ground."

Rogue heard the smile in Pyro's voice as he answered. "Wicked."

Magneto nodded, a small smile on his face. "Indeed. Mystique?"

Mystique took her place in front of the screen, switching it to an outside aerial view of the complex. "This facility has eight cameras and four guard towers." She indicated them along the perimeter.

"How are we going to take out eight cameras and four guards?" Gambit asked, curious. "Don't seem like that's possible with our numbers, unless Magneto can do it long-range."

"We're not," Mystique said bluntly. "We're going to take out three cameras and _one_ guard." She pointed at the screen, to the lower right-hand tower. "The field of fire for this quadrant is the only one we need to eliminate. It's much more practical and expedient to dispose of only the one guard and the three cameras. The rest are irrelevant."

"Won't the other guards come down and try to shoot us?" Rogue asked, hands twisting nervously in her lap.

Magneto answered that for her. "No. Guards usually stay in their towers—if there is a break-out, you do not want to put weapons within reach of the prisoners." His voice was flat, unemotional.

Mystique continued. "Mesmero, you'll stay with the helicopter—anyone approaches, you know what to do. Magneto will deal with the radio transmitter, which is located on the roof. Once the communications are disabled, we'll take out the surveillance cameras. Magneto will take care of the armed guard, and then we're in."

"Take care of the guard" had to mean only one thing. Rogue slipped lower in her seat. This entire thing seemed so…_unreal_.

"Where do we go in?" Pyro leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "To the building, I mean."

Mystique pointed. "Here. All the prisoners are being held in one cell block. We'll use an explosive to blow the wall from the inside—to keep the debris from harming anyone--and then Magneto can unlock the cells. The cargo helicopter is large enough to fit everyone comfortably enough. We've arranged transport to a safehouse."

Rogue swallowed. "Won't the guards come rushing in when they hear the explosion?"

"Yes. However, this prison has automatic locks so that individual cell blocks can be isolated if necessary in case of a riot. The first thing we'll do when we get in is trip the locks, so they can't get in." This from Magneto, standing off to the side.

"_How_ do we get in?" Gambit asked. "There's not a door, is there?" He sounded doubtful.

"There's a window, which opens into the central corridor. We'll go in that way. I'll go; I can make myself small enough. I'll place the explosive, blow the wall, and…" Mystique waved her hand. "The rest of you can come in afterwards."

"Won't there be guards in the cell block?" Rogue asked, worried, unable to discount the threat of the guards as easily as everyone else apparently did. "And won't they be armed?"

"I've seen them--they have nightsticks," Mystique said with a shrug. "And I've only seen two in there at the time when we're planning to do this. I can handle them."

Rogue didn't doubt _that_ for a minute. "Seems weird, prison guards not having guns," she muttered.

"Same reasoning as out in the yard. You keep the guns isolated from the prisoners." Mystique crossed her arms and gazed at them all. "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Pyro said, raising his hand, which made Rogue sort of want to giggle, but maybe that was because she was feeling a bit hysterical. "When you said, 'raze it to the ground', how do we do that? Explosives?"

"We'll burn it, Pyro," Magneto said, as if that should be obvious. "Or rather, _you_ will."

"Just the cell block?"

Rogue wondered if that was natural, how excited he sounded by the prospect.

"The whole thing."

"How am I going to do that?" He sat up straighter. "From our position in that block, I'd have to go back outside where the other guards are to get a shot at the central part, which would be the best place to set a fire if you want the whole thing to burn."

Pyro had obviously been doing his homework.

"No, you won't," Magneto assured him. "Once the prisoners are released, I'll open the locking mechanism and you can fire down towards the central area. It will be too late for them to do anything about the fire by the time help arrives."

Pyro flicked his Zippo—his grin looked almost sinister in the muted light of the flame. "Okay."

Rogue had been listening very carefully, and it sounded like her only assignment was to be in attendance. That wasn't terribly awful; she'd been expecting worse. Still….

_Someone will die, I'm sure of it. Those guards. They have families, kids. Parents. Someone loves them._

She thought about the faces of the mutants she had seen. Maybe _they_ had kids, maybe _they_ had families and people who loved _them_, too. Was it fair that they should be locked up? For having powers that they didn't know how to control?

Rogue remembered Lewiston, and wondered what would have happened if Dottie had called the police after the incident with Troy.

_I could have ended up there, too._

She swallowed her protests, ignored the voice whispering in the back of her mind--_What if some of them deserve to be in prison_?—and went to train for the mission with the others.

This was it. If she could do this and not feel guilty, then she'd know, at last, if she belonged.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Rogue was quiet during the helicopter ride, going over and over the mechanics of their mission. She wasn't terribly worried about _her_ part of this plan—she wasn't really assigned anything to do—but she was nervous about everything _else_.

No one else seemed to be suffering from nerves, though, so she didn't say anything. Pyro was listening to headphones, his eyes closed, appearing perfectly at ease. Magneto was seated next to Mystique—she'd had the smallest flash of fear when she'd seen him in his uniform, though thankfully it abated quickly—and nothing seemed to bother Mystique, who was intent upon piloting the helicopter. They were speaking quietly, though Rogue couldn't hear what they were saying.

Mesmero, who hated to fly, was huddled in his seat with the hood of his cloak pulled over his face. Gambit was shuffling his cards, and Rogue was worrying. What if one of them died? What if it was _her /i? Magneto is here, and there's a lot of metal in prisons, isn't there? Mystique's the most amazing fighter I've ever seen, Mesmero can hypnotize people, and Pyro—_

"We're here," Magneto called back, jolting her out of her reverie. Rogue hadn't realized they were that close to Connecticut; she'd expected a longer flight. She peered out of the window, but all she saw was flat black _nothingness_, peppered occasionally by twinkling lights.

When the helicopter had landed, they were briefed again on the plan. "Any questions? Ask them now," Magneto warned, but they'd all practiced this and besides, it was fairly straight-forward as far as diabolical schemes went. Rogue supposed she could be grateful for that.

It was very cold outside, and Rogue wasn't wearing a jacket, fearing it would hinder her movements. She wondered how Mystique could stand it. She could see the prison lights gleaming in the distance, growing brighter as they neared the complex. Once they were just outside the gates, Magneto levitated up towards the roof, disappearing in the moonless night sky for a moment.

There was the faintest sound in the quiet night air—a low hum, like something tearing. Looking up, she thought she saw a flash in the night sky as the object hurtled out of view.

Magneto descended from the roof and gestured for them all to follow.

Quietly, they all crept up closer to the high stone tower. Magneto turned to Pyro and Gambit. "I'll deal with this guard and the camera. The two of you go take care of the other two cameras on this side. Let me know when you are in position." Magneto waited, and Rogue stood next to Mystique, both of them keeping an eye on the surroundings. "Here," she heard Pyro say in her headpiece, followed by Gambit's similar statement a second later.

"Now." Magneto used his power to both disarm the guard and destroy the camera all at once, and Rogue saw two bright flashes in the darkness—Pyro using his fire, and Gambit throwing one of his cards.

There was a shout, then silence, and a muffled _thud_ coming from the tower above her. Rogue turned away when she realized what the dark shape on the ground must be, unmoving.

Magneto waved his hand and the guard's M16 came towards him. With a look of distaste, he warped the metal until it was twisted, useless mess at his feet. "Let's go."

The wall of the prison had a window several feet up, covered with metal bars. Rogue watched Mystique take the explosive device they'd rigged and look up towards the window. "You'll want to tell whoever is in there to be careful," Magneto warned, "When the wall blows. Tell them to take cover if they are close by, though the explosive should direct most of the debris outwards."

"Wait," Gambit said, narrowing his eyes. "Mystique's supposed to set an explosive, warn prisoners, and fight two guards at once? Somebody else should go in there. All of us know how set that bomb, Magneto."

"No one else can fit," Mystique said shortly. "We don't have time for this."

"I'll go," Rogue said, before she could think about it. She held up her arms, shackled by Magneto's metal cuffs. "I'm small. I can fit. You can lift me up with your powers, and if Mystique is small enough, she can go on my back. I can warn the prisoners and—" she took a deep breath, "I can set the bomb. I know how."

Magneto looked at her and gave a terse nod. "Fine. Mystique, change into something that the guards are unlikely to shoot at first sight."

Mystique shifted her form into that of a very small child. "Let me climb on your back," she said, her voice childlike. It was eerie, especially since she was still holding the explosive device in her tiny hands.

Rogue obediently went down on one knee, standing up when she felt the little arms wrap snugly around her neck. She wordlessly took the explosive, holding it carefully in her hands.

Magneto stepped forward. "Remember, you have to do this _quickly_. I'll need to get in and set the locks before they call for backup and open the cell block."

With that, Rogue felt herself lift off her feet with Mystique pressed tight to her back, and watched as the window went sailing past her as Magneto pulled it from the casement. She propelled forward, somersaulting through, and landed on her feet with a bit of a wince in the central corridor of the prison.

She released Mystique and looked around. She could hear the sound of footsteps running towards them, and turned towards the wall to set the bomb.

"Who're you?"

Rogue looked up at the gruff voice, seeing one of the prisoners out of the corner of her eye addressing her from his cell on the top row. The man had strange metal-like tentacles protruding from his body. There was an electrical pulse around his cell, which would presumably shock him if he tried to use them on anyone. "We're here to get you out," she said simply, affixing the bomb to the wall.

"You and a kid?" The prisoner didn't sound convinced. "How's that gonna work?"

Rogue remained focused on the explosive, doing what she'd done a thousand times in practice as if it were second nature. "She ain't a kid," she answered, just as the guards made their way towards where Mystique stood. "And we didn't come alone."

"What the hell—it's…is that a little girl…?" The guards had approached, and their hesitation gave Mystique enough time to shift forms and rush them before they could act.

"Fuck, no, it's a damned Mutie!" One of them shouted, grabbing his nightstick.

Narrowing her eyes at the phrase, Rogue resisted the urge to help Mystique attack the guards. Though clearly the other woman didn't need any help—she took one guard out with a vicious roundhouse kick to the head, and another—

She broke his neck, easily and cleanly, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

There was a moment of silence, followed by cheering. Mystique grinned fiercely. "Blow the wall, Rogue."

"If you're next to this wall, hide under your bed," Rogue called out to the prisoners, feeling a bit silly, then pressed the detonation button. She and Mystique ran down the corridor, falling to the floor as they heard the tell-tale beep announcing the imminent explosion.

The wall blew to pieces with a very loud boom and a great deal of smoke. Most of the rock flew outside, which was good, though some had fallen throughout the cell block. Rogue sprang to her feet and wiped the dust off her face. Her heart was pounding, and some debris had hit her on the back, but she was too high on adrenaline to feel any pain.

Magneto appeared as the smoke cleared, and the sound of locks clicking into place immediately followed his entrance as he isolated the cell block. There was a pounding on the door, suggesting they'd been just in time, and shouts were heard out in the central area as the guards attempted to override the locking mechanism.

"The Brotherhood of Mutants has come to free you." Magneto's voice carried effortlessly throughout the area. "We shall take you somewhere safe."

There was some more cheering as the locks to the cells clicked open. Gambit was able to short most of the additional security precautions that weren't metal, and Magneto easily disposed of the ones that were. The newly-liberated prisoners congregated at the back, near the large hole in the wall.

"Pyro," Magneto ordered, and Pyro stepped forward. "You're ready?"

"Yeah." Rogue watched him smile as he opened his lighter, and remembered him in Boston when he'd faced down the police. She wondered if he liked this better, having an appreciative audience? Probably. Could she blame him?

Magneto opened the locks and the door separating the cell block from the central part of the prison swung open. There were several—armed—guards standing there, but their guns flew out of their hands immediately. Magneto barely spared them a glance as he turned on his heel. "Rogue, quickly. Out of the way."

Rogue watched for a moment longer as Pyro sent a rather large fireball barreling down the corridor and into the central area. The look on his face was one of pure enjoyment, his stance easy and relaxed. He directed the fire like it was a symphony. Maybe to him, it was. She was transfixed, feeling the heat of the fire on her face but unable to look away.

She heard people start to scream, then took off at a run, following behind Magneto with Pyro at her back.

They moved as a group towards the perimeter, and Magneto removed the metal fencing so they could pass through. She heard shouting from the other guards in the towers, and wondered if they really would come after them. She didn't figure they had much to worry about with the guns, though, but it was a scary thought.

By the time she could catch her breath, they were strapped into the helicopter, and it was lifting up into the night sky. _It worked. It actually worked._ She turned her face towards the window and watched the orange flames licking at the darkness as the prison continued to burn. She wondered how many were still stuck in the building, if anyone would get there in time to rescue them.

She looked over at Pyro, who was staring out of the window at the fire below. "Isn't it beautiful?" he said softly, resting his hand against the glass, his voice reverent.

Rogue didn't know how to answer that, so she didn't. She couldn't believe what she'd just done, but her mind was curiously blank, which was weird. She'd expected to feel guilty. Instead, she just felt…

"M-miss?"

Looking up, she saw a young woman, hardly older than her, standing unsteadily next to her seat. Her bones appeared to be poking through her skin. Rogue wondered if that was painful.

_Of course it's painful._ She looked down at her hands, the dark gloves streaked with grey dust from the explosion.

"Thank you," she said, and grasped Rogue's hands carefully in her own. "I don't know why I was locked up there. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. It's just so hard to control the spikes…but they didn't believe me."

"Be careful," Rogue said immediately, then made her voice soothing. "It's just, my skin's dangerous," she explained, looking up at the woman's face. Her eyes were wild, like a creature kept in a cage, and Rogue felt something very much like pride when she thought of how she'd helped her escape.

"So are my bones." The other mutant smiled. "No wonder you wanted to help us," she murmured. "You're just like us."

"You should go back to your seat," Rogue said softly. The woman patted her briefly on the shoulder and returned to her place.

Rogue turned forwards again, and found Magneto looking at her. He didn't say a word, and eventually, Rogue turned her gaze away, confused. She had a lot to think about.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we have the second-to-last chapter of Ideology! **

**Chapter 15**

Pyro woke her the next morning, after what seemed like mere seconds that she'd been asleep. She'd been dreaming about swimming, feeling water cool and silky against her bare skin.

"Rogue! Get up. We're supposed be downstairs."

Rogue grumbled something and pulled the covers over her head, wanting to go back to sleep. It was not her turn to make breakfast, so she should be able to sleep for at least a little bit longer…

Pyro opened the door—Magneto had ceased locking her in quite a long time ago—and crossed the room to pull at the covers under which she was cocooned. "Up, lazy. Didn't you hear me? Magneto wants us downstairs, _now_."

Giving up, she pulled the covers away from her head and glared up at him. "Can I please get dressed first?"

"What, are you naked?" He looked at her doubtfully. "With gloves on? That's kinky, Rogue."

She reached for her pillow to throw it at him.

"Pyro! Rogue! Get down here!" Mystique shouted, and Rogue exchanged a look with Pyro and bounded out of bed, following him downstairs as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, securing it with the black elastic rubber band she wore around her wrist.

They ended up in the rec room, which was tuned to MSNBC. Magneto was standing, drinking a cup of coffee, his eyes trained on the screen. Gambit and Mesmero were on the couch, Mystique curled under a blanket on one of the chairs.

"Nice outfit, _cherie_," Gambit murmured. Rogue ignored him and his pointed comment about her pajamas, her eyes on the television.

A well-coiffed reporter stood in front of a smoldering pile of rubble, speaking in a serious voice about the overnight attack.

_Officials are still searching through the debris for evidence after last night's attack at the Connecticut Detention Center--_

"_Mutant_ Detention Center," Pyro spoke up, and Magneto raised a hand to silence him.

_Nine people were killed in the attack, in which all twenty-five prisoners escaped. Their whereabouts are currently unknown. The Brotherhood of Mutants has claimed responsibility for the incident. _

"When did we do that?" Rogue asked, bewildered. It had been late when they'd returned. She was glad for the prisoners, who were on their way to Brotherhood safehouses out of the country.

"I took care of that," Magneto said quietly. Rogue had an image of him sending an e-mail, and then felt guilty when that made her smile. How could she be so flippant when faced with images of the very destruction she herself had helped to cause?

_Nine people died._

A woman came on the screen, her face streaked by tears. A caption appeared, giving her name with the epithet _wife of slain guard_ printed beneath. "I hope these people realize they're monsters," the woman sobbed, her eyes red. "My husband was only trying to keep people safe."

Rogue's feeling of disassociation grew worse as the woman continued speaking, and she wondered if her face was expressionless as everyone else's in the room. _Who's keeping the mutants safe, lady?_

The next scene showed a few pictures of the escaped prisoners, though the reporters focused mainly on the powers that the mutants had, and very little on why they were actually imprisoned in the first place.

_The mutant community at large has condemned these attacks,_ the reporter said gravely, nodding as if in approval.

"Yeah," Rogue said under her breath, annoyed. "Until _they're_ the ones locked up in a detainment center. Then they'll cheer for us, just like those prisoners did last night."

"Sing it, sister," Pyro muttered beside her, and Rogue didn't miss Magneto's satisfied expression as he turned to address them.

"That was an extremely well-executed mission. I'm very pleased with all of you." He switched off the television.

Mystique unfolded herself from the chair and stretched, taking Magneto's words as an obvious sign of dismissal. "My turn to make breakfast." She left the room with her usual graceful gait. Mesmero followed her.

"I'm going to shower while we still have hot water. Too tired last night to do it." Gambit stood up, yawning, raising his hands to the ceiling and arching his back. Rogue watched Pyro glace appreciatively at the play of muscles underneath Gambit's t-shirt as he stretched.

"Yeah. Sounds like a good idea." Pyro said blandly, following. He caught Rogue's eye and winked as left the room.

Rogue tried not to giggle at that. Pyro's crush on the older mutant was really very sweet. _And kind of hot._ Rogue pressed her hands to her face, which was suddenly very warm, at the inappropriateness of that thought.

"Aren't you cold?" Magneto put his coffee cup on the table next to the sofa and walked over to where she stood. "Gambit was right. An interesting choice of attire."

Startled, she turned to him, dropping her hands. She suddenly remembered what she was wearing—a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts—and that she was exposing a lot bare skin, save for the gloves. "My room gets hot at night. Stuffy."

"Does it?" Before she could answer, he continued speaking. "You showed initiative last night. I was proud of you."

"Thanks." She rubbed her arms with her hands, warming under his praise. She liked the slide of the fabric against her skin. It reminded her of her dream, of the water. _I think I'm touch-starved._

As if he'd read her mind, he slowly reached out and placed his bare hand on her shoulder. She stilled at his touch, her breath strangled in her throat. His hand was very warm on her skin. "You have to be careful," she managed, her voice low.

His fingers moved over her inward, tracing her collarbone, lightly, though she felt his caress all the way to her toes. "Because you're dangerous," he murmured, lifting his hand almost immediately, before her power pulled at him. "I know."

"You're dangerous, too." She had no idea what was going on between them, or how they'd ended up standing so close to each other. She could feel the heat of his body, radiating outwards, and had a wild urge to lean in against him.

He smiled slowly, giving her a look she'd never seen on his face before. It did strange things to her equilibrium. "I suppose I am." He reached down, fingers caressing the metal encircling her upper arms.

"These are no longer necessary, are they?" His voice was hypnotic. "Tell me to take them off, Rogue, and I will."

She was breathing so fast she was about to hyperventilate, and her body felt liquid, boneless. It was strange—she felt as if he was touching _her_ instead of the metal.

"Go on, then," he urged her, fingers moving back and forth over the cuffs. "Or do you like wearing them?"

Rogue took a deep breath, forcing her breathing to become even. There were darker answers to his question she didn't even _want_ to contemplate—at least not now. "May I please take the boat out?"

Of all the things he'd been expecting her to say, it was clearly _not_ that. He looked momentarily bewildered, an uncommon expression for him. "What?"

"The boat. I just need….an hour. Please." She'd not asked him for anything, not in the entire time she'd been here. If she didn't take a moment to think things through, she would ask him to take her cuffs off, but she was worried it wouldn't be for the right reasons.

He confused her when he was near her, too much for her to think straight.

"If you wish," he said slowly, backing away from her. "Do not go to the mainland. It would not be wise after last night."

She nodded, cold again as the chill air rushed over heated skin. "I won't. I just…I'll be back. I need to think, not run away."

Their eyes met again, his gaze predatory in a way that made her heart race. "I believe we need to have a…talk, sometime soon, Rogue."

"That's why I'm going to go out on the boat." She was moving towards the door, but slowly, as if she really didn't want to leave.

"That's not what I meant," he muttered, and abruptly turned away from her. "Go on. I'll tell Mystique where you are." The door opened, and she took it as the dismissal he intended, leaving without another word.

Rogue went upstairs to change into something warmer. Her skin still burned where he'd touched it.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

She didn't go out far, just out enough so that she could have a few moments to herself without any distractions. She idled the boat and pulled one of the blankets from under the seat, curled up on one of the vinyl seats at the prow of the boat. She stared out into the seemingly endless expanse of sea and thought about what had happened to her in the last six months.

The X-Men would know soon enough what she'd done, she was sure of it. She could never go back there again, but really, had she ever thought that she could? Besides, even if she _could_ go back, she wouldn't.

She no longer agreed that the Professor's ideology was correct, and there was no one she could touch that would make her change her mind. She was certain of that as she was of the fact that humanity would never accept them.

Rogue thought of Lewiston, the injustice of all that had occurred there. She remembered Dottie firing her, accusing her of being a thief.

Threatening to call animal control, to lock her up like a _dog_.

In her mind, she saw the prison from last night, and she remembered the woman who had thanked her on the helicopter.

_No wonder you helped us. You're just like us._ The woman had been right, of course. Rogue _was_ just like them. There was no place for her among Xavier's idealistic X-Men; she no longer believed humanity would ever accept her. She'd seen where humanity thought her place should be last night.

She'd killed for Magneto—not with her own hands, but her actions had led to the death of nine people. There was a sense of sadness within her for what she'd wrought, for the woman who had to hear the news her husband was dead. If Rogue had any lingering doubts about Magneto's sincerity in his apology for having tried to kill her, she didn't now. She understood that sometimes you had to do what was necessary for the greater good. She'd done so last night.

_I'm sorry those men had to die, but we saved twenty-five mutants. If they hadn't have put them in that horrible prison in the first place, then we wouldn't have had to do that._

Rogue turned her face up to the sky, feeling the wind as it slid over her skin. The smell of salt was sharp; she could taste it on her tongue as she inhaled. The thought came to her, simply and succinctly, that the only place she'd ever really belonged—the only place she'd ever truly made a difference—was here.

Rogue stood up and stowed the blanket, then she piloted the boat back to the fortress, her mind clear. She knew what she had to do.

ooooooooOOOOoooooooo

Rogue had never been in Magneto's bedroom before, but she knew which door was his.

It was the only one without a doorknob.

She could have waited for him, could have returned to training and spoken with him after lunch, or waited until after dinner. But she didn't want to. She was ready, and there was no sense in putting off the inevitable. She knocked twice and waited.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Rogue."

There was a long moment of silence, and then the door swung open. Rogue stepped inside, her shoulders back, chin up. He was standing near the window, staring out, watching the clouds gathering on the horizon. They would have a storm, later, it seemed.

"Yes?"

"I want to tell you why I left Xavier's," she said simply. "I think it's time you knew."

She half-expected him to escort her out of there, downstairs maybe. He didn't, though. "All right."

Rogue sat on his bed, hands folded in her lap, looking out of the window. He had a nice view. She took a deep breath. "Earlier this summer, my roommate and a friend of ours thought we'd try and get a job at the mall." The ghost of a smile played across her lips. "It's funny to think all this started with me trying to earn some spending money."

He watched her carefully, but didn't speak.

Rogue continued, leaving nothing out, telling him everything that had happened from the job interviews to the rejections she'd accumulated. He rarely interjected anything, except when he couldn't seem to help himself—"You actually applied at _Hot Topic_?"—and listened to her without much expression.

When she got to the part about her ill-fated attempt to eradicate her doubts by touching her classmates, however, he stopped her. "Why did you think that would work?" he asked, curious.

She looked down at her hands. "Because…when I touched you, it worked. Or rather, when you touched me. At Liberty Island. Remember what I told you? That I thought what you were trying to do was right? I just wanted to believe," she said, feeling a bit foolish when she thought about it now.

"You realize, of course, that you can't force yourself to believe in things with which don't actually agree?"

She raised her head at that. "I realize that _now_," she said, sheepish. "I just wanted to belong, to be like everyone else."

"So you attempted to take that certainty from your friends."

She nodded. "Yes. Only, it—didn't work. You see, they all had doubts, too. And now I realize, of course, that their doubts weren't enough to make them stop believing what we were doing was right."

"And so you left?"

Rogue winced. "Not exactly. After my fellow students didn't really have anything for me, I thought about the one person whom I knew would have to check _yes_ on that box. And was as committed to the Professor's dream as _he_ was, despite that."

"Cyclops," Magneto guessed, and she nodded.

"Yeah. But, um, you're not really supposed to go rushing into your teacher's room trying to use your powers on them."

"I'm surprised Charles let you get as far as you did."

"He stopped me right when I was going for Mr. Sum—Cyclops," she corrected herself. He gave a small smile at that.

"Never say my old friend _kicked you out_ of his precious school?" Magneto raised an eyebrow. "I don't know that I'd believe it."

"No," Rogue whispered, looking away. "He—I heard him talking to Cyclops. I'd inadvertently hurt someone, a little girl, when I had Colossus' super strength. I pushed her out of the way on my way to Cyclops' room." She swallowed. "The Professor said if Rahne was seriously hurt, he'd have to—to erase my memories and send me away."

There was silence between them for a long moment, until Magneto said carefully, "I see. Was she hurt that badly?"

Rogue shook her head. "I don't know. If she wasn't, he was still going to erase my memories of what happened. So I left. I ran away." She bit her lip. "I don't know if Rahne was okay or not."

"It doesn't matter, does it?" His gaze was sharp. "You decided to leave, rather wait around and see if he intended to erase your memories." To her surprise, he sat next to her on the bed.

"Well, yeah. I mean, it would have been more merciful just to kill me, wouldn't it, rather than take away my memory and lock me up somewhere?" She shuddered.

"Undoubtedly," he said, his voice suddenly hard. "That must have been frightening, to leave with nothing."

"Yeah. It was scary. I had no idea what to do. I just know I didn't want my memories to be erased, didn't want to end up in some asylum somewhere." The thought was still terrifying.

"If it matters, I do not think he would have done it, regardless."

"Then why did he say it?" Rogue twisted her hands together. "I think he would have."

"I suppose it is possible. However, it should be noted that you ran away and didn't use your powers in your fear that he would find you, which also may be what he intended."

Rogue hadn't thought of that. "You mean, he suggested it knowing I'd take off and hide from him?"

"Perhaps. It is hard to say. I do not think it is out of the realm of possibility, though." He stood up and looked down at her. "Thank you for telling me. I suppose it goes without saying that if you try something that foolish here, we'll just kill you."

She gave him a half-smile. "That is a deal. But I won't."

"You understand what I will ask of you?" he asked, and she'd rarely seen him look so serious. "What you will do, in the name of our cause?"

"I understand." There was no hesitation in her answer.

"Stand up," he ordered her, and she obeyed, rising slowly to her feet. "Ask me to take your cuffs off, Rogue."

"Please take my cuffs off." Her voice was firm. The metal cuffs fell to the floor, landing soundlessly on the rug. She gave them a momentary glance, then squared her shoulders and looked back at him, suddenly shy.

"Um…what do I do now?" She winced at how silly that sounded, but he was still staring at her as if he expected her to do something else.

"Perhaps have lunch?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I believe it is lunchtime. Then you have a session to make up with Mystique, do you not?"

"I do, yeah. Which means I better eat since I missed breakfast." Luckily, it was Saturday, which meant they'd have a good meal for dinner as well. She turned to go, then remembered what he'd said that morning. "Magneto?"

To Rogue's knowledge, it was the first time she'd ever addressed him by his name.

"Yes?"

For half a second, she'd intended to remind him he'd said they had to talk about something. However, she wasn't sure she wanted to have the conversation to which he was alluding, so instead, she just said, "Thank you."

He came towards her, and she stood rooted the floor, watching him approach her with a combination of dread and excitement. When he was right in front of her, he reached his hand out to catch at the white lock of her hair. "You're welcome. I imagine the others will be pleased to see you've finally come to your senses." He smiled briefly and tugged her hair before removing his hand and stepping back.

The door opened behind her, and she blinked owlishly up at him. He laughed. "Go on."

Dazed, she stepped through the open doorway and went downstairs. She found everyone in the kitchen, as they usually just fixed their own lunch. Quietly, she made herself a sandwich, happy she could actually do so without her gloves on for once.

At the table she was mostly silent, letting the conversation ebb and flow around her. None of them appeared to pay any attention to the fact she was eating bare-handed, and Rogue didn't point it out. They'd notice it sooner or later.

Pyro did, when he asked for the salt. "Hey! You're not wearing your gloves. What's up with that?"

"I don't like to eat with them," she said simply, nibbling on her sandwich.

"Your cuffs are gone," Gambit said, stating the obvious. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. "Guess we know what that means."

"Guess so." Rogue reached over and nonchalantly stole a potato chip from Pyro's plate.

She started blushing, though, because they all clapped for her.

Though she hated to be the center of attention, Rogue stood up and gave a brief bow. Pyro whistled for her, and that was the end of it. She sat back down and went back to her lunch, listening to Mesmero's story about gypsy curses and vampires, feeling perfectly at home.


	16. Chapter 16: Conclusion

**AN: This is the conclusion to _Ideology_. I really appreciate everyone who has been reading and reviewing (yes, even the flamer, who might want to take a look at the comics before she calls my OTP "stupid"! Marvel didn't think so. g Ah, how this Magneto/Rogue shipper loved the Age of Apocolypse series!) However, be forwarned, if Magneto/Rogue is not your cup of tea you might not like this chaper. However, if you've read this far, aren't you at least a little curious? Come on, you know you are... g  
**

**Thank you all so much for reading. I do hope you've enjoyed the story. I do plan to write stories within this universe quite a bit (one of my main reasons for writing it) and shall post them here if they are rating-appropriate. All my fics are found on my fic Livejournal at http/community. I have a planned Gambit/Pyro in the works, for instance, that in no way can be posted here!**

**Finally, you may notice a bit of awkwardness on Rogue's behalf in this chapter. She's young, and relatively inexperienced, and I wanted to portray this as realistically as possible. **

**My thanks go to my beta, Ion, for all her incredible suggestions and support.**

**Now, enough of me, and onto the conclusion!**

**oooooooooooOOOOOoooooooo **

**Chapter 16**

Rogue had a sinking suspicion that the conversation Magneto kept hinting they needed to have was imminent. She might have been fine with mayhem and destruction in the name of mutant liberation, but telling him she as attracted to him was far scarier than said mayhem.

It was just that it was getting rather difficult to hide it, especially since she was no longer afraid of him or holding a grudge about the incident at the Statue of Liberty. So she really had no reason for acting the way she did around him, and he was a smart man. If he hadn't figured it out yet, he would eventually.

_Eventually_ came one day during training, when the two of them had sparred. She'd done rather well until he managed to slam her against the wall, her hands pinned above her head. She'd really, really meant to fight back, because Mystique had her practice getting out of this sort of situation about a hundred times, usually pressing her face to bare skin or doing a complicated maneuver involving a lot of twisting and kicking.

Rogue didn't fight back, though. She had remained completely passive, which was obviously not what he wanted. "Fight me," he snapped, pushing her harder against the wall again, which should have hurt. It _did_ hurt. The noise she made, however, was _not_ one of pain.

He'd let her go, his eyes narrowed. "I believe that's enough for today."

Rogue hadn't really been able to argue with him. She was mortified about what she'd just done, which was the equivalent of playing the helpless little female and that was _so_ not her thing. There was absolutely no way Mystique was going to let her get away with anything but a thorough ass-kicking for that either, once she found out about it.

Which she did, and the only good thing about the ensuing workout was that Rogue was too busy trying to keep from being permanently injured to ruminate over what she'd done.

By the name Rogue left her training session, she was so sore all she could think about was a shower and bed. She suffered through dinner mostly in silence, too embarrassed to look at Magneto and she'd rather Mystique just forgot about her for while.

She felt a little better after she'd showered, and did a series of stretches in her bedroom until her muscles felt a bit less tight. Deciding it was probably a good idea to take something for the pain, she went in search of some aspirin. Unfortunately, her bottle was empty (training with Mystique meant taking a lot of pain killers before bed). Cursing, she realized she was going to have to go downstairs and find someone to see if they had any.

Once she was in the hallway, though, she came face-to-face with Magneto, obviously heading towards his room. He took one look at her aspirin bottle and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Going for some water, are we?"

"No," she said, still a little embarrassed. "I—I'm out of aspirin. I was gonna go see if anyone had any downstairs."

"I have some. Follow me. I believe it is time for you and I to have that talk, at any rate." He gestured for her to follow him. Nervously, Rogue complied, mentally cursing herself. _You couldn't have just sucked it up and gone to bed, could you?_

How was she going to handle this? _I'm very sorry I'm attracted to you and don't know what to do about it._ Oh, but this was going to be _humiliating_, she just _knew_ it.  
She dropped her head and followed him, rather as if she were walking to her execution.

He disappeared into his bathroom and returned with a glass of water and two aspirin. "Here."

Rogue took them, drained the glass of water, and then handed it back to him. "Thanks."

He placed the glass on his dresser. "We need to discuss this, don't you think?"

"Discuss what?" she tried, not looking at him. Maybe she could play dumb and he'd just take pity on her and let her leave. "My pain-killer habit?"

He stepped closer to her. "Let's be adults about this, shall we?"

So, playing dumb was out.

_Oh, God._ She closed her eyes. "Um, look, I'm sorry about today. I just…you make me…nervous." That wasn't really the word for it, but it would do.

"I thought you weren't afraid of me anymore?"

Her eyes were still closed. "I'm not," she muttered, expelling a breath.

"I see. Then why is it I make you nervous?"

Was he going to make her _say_ it? "I…seem to be…oh, you know, don't you?" She opened her eyes, refusing to finish that sentence, staring intently at his boots. "You have to."

"Yes. Look at me, Marie."

Startled by his use of her first name, she did so. "I thought Marie was my _human_ name."

"I think that perhaps I should have this conversation with Marie instead of Rogue," he said simply.

He was standing _much_ too close to her. "I don't know how this happened," she began, feeling ridiculous. She wished she could sink through the floor and escape.

"Nor do I." His face remained inscrutable, but she thought she detected the faintest trace of humor in his words. If he laughed at her, she'd _die_.

"I wouldn't have ever said anything," she said truthfully. She was far too reserved to have ever muttered words about it if he hadn't have noticed.

"I know. That's why _I_ did."

"So I guess I'll…" she chewed on her bottom lip. "I mean, is it…" She buried her face in her hands. This was worse than she'd imagined.

"Marie…"

She felt his hands catch hers and pull them away from her face. He looked down at her, not speaking, and moved his hands to rest on her waist. That gave her pause--if he was touching her, did that mean…

_Oh._ "So you're, um, not—horrified, then?" Rogue asked warily, holding herself very still.

He gave a sharp laugh at her words. "You don't give yourself enough credit, my dear."

Rogue's heart was beating so loud she was certain he'd be able to hear it. "I figured I was too…"

"Young?"

"That isn't what I was going to say, but yeah, that too," she said honestly, because there was no point in pretending that wasn't an issue.

He shrugged. "You're not a child. Have I ever treated you like one since you arrived?"

She shook her head, considering that. "No. I guess you haven't."

"What were you going to say, if not that?" One of his hands was still at her waist, but he brought the other up, fingers twining in the white of her hair.

"I'm too dangerous." She was intensely aware of his hand on her waist, even through the fabric of her clothes.

"I like dangerous," he murmured, fingers ghosting across her neck, just enough to make her shiver.

His hand dropped from her hair and returned to her waist, and he pulled her closer to him. She was terrified and excited, hardly unable to believe that this was happening, though she had no idea what she was supposed to do. She was still trying to wrap her brain around the idea that he was touching her, that apparently he was attracted to _her_, as well.

He leaned down, his mouth very close to her ear. "You're shaking. Am I scaring you?"

She nodded. "Yes." He was, but she liked it, which didn't make any sense but she couldn't think straight enough to figure it out.

"Shall I stop?" He wasn't even _doing_ anything, not really, and yet she was finding it hard to draw enough breath to answer his question. "Do you wish to leave?"

"No…" Rogue shuddered, her hands coming up and resting lightly on his shoulders. She carefully pressed herself against him, and he sucked in a breath as she did so.

Scared that she'd done something wrong, she pulled back, searching his face anxiously. His cheekbones were flushed. "Did I—" she began, worried she'd hurt him.

He shook his head, pulling her back to him, less gentle this time. "No. You didn't hurt me."

"I will, though," she said seriously, trying to control her very erratic breathing. "I mean…that's what I do."

"I know," he murmured. "We'll work around it." His hands slid up her back, up and down, before he set her away from him.

She looked at him nervously—had he changed his mind?—but all he did was move towards his dresser and pick up a pair of black leather gloves, pulling them on slowly.

The sight of him doing that was frighteningly erotic, and it nearly undid her completely.

"Come here, Marie." He extended a hand towards her, and she realized that he was giving her a choice. If she wanted to, she could leave, and that would be it. He'd never mention it again, and he'd be Magneto instead of Erik, and she would fight for him but that would be the extent of their relationship.

She didn't want to leave, though. Rogue stepped forward, and slowly placed her hand in his, unresisting as he pulled her roughly towards him once more. She said not a word as he drew her to the bed, and she was afraid, but she was smiling.

ooooooooOOOOooooooo

Rogue thought maybe she'd feel different, somehow, in the morning. She'd spent several years convinced intimacy was something that she'd just have to miss out on, so it was nice to know she was wrong.

It was tricky, but it could be done. That was good to know, at least.

However, she was certain she hadn't been any good at it. How could she? She'd not had a clue what to do, and had been so overwhelmed…

Was he going to send her back to her room and never mention it again?

She'd not slept much, too full of insecurities and too afraid she was going to hurt him to let herself relax enough to fall asleep.

He took one look at her in the morning and must have seen everything she was written on her face, because just as she was trying to figure out how to escape back to her room so she could worry about it, he stopped her with a gloved hand on her arm.

"You look terrified. Regrets?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. "N-no," she stammered, and that much was true. She didn't regret what they'd done—but she was certain _he_ must.

"Then why are you looking at me as if I am going to toss you out the window?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't any good," she blurted out, then clasped her hand to her mouth in horror. She resisted the urge to hide back beneath the covers.

"Did I say you weren't?" he asked, smiling a bit.

"Well, no, but I didn't really—I mean, you did most of the—" Rogue gave up and pulled the pillow over her head. "Please forget I just said that."

He snorted. "Marie, kindly take the pillow off your face if you're going to speak to me."

She did so, though reluctantly, desperately wishing she hadn't said anything.

"There. Now, is that the reason you look like you hardly had any sleep? Have you been worrying all night about that?"

The thread of amusement in his voice annoyed her. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe. Also, you know, it is very weird to sleep in the same bed with someone else when I'm scared that if I roll over they'll die," she said bluntly.

He shrugged. "I don't think that will happen. We're both of us wearing quite a bit of clothing." Which was true; she'd slept in pajama pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, gloves, and socks. "If you stay over there, the chances you will significantly injure me are slight."

"Well, gee, Erik, glad you thought of that," she said sarcastically, and he laughed.

"Marie, it was very good, and you'll get better at it. Does that help ease your mind?"

"So that means I _was_ awful—" she stopped herself, perking up as she realized what he'd just said. "You want to do it again?"

He rolled his eyes and got out of bed. "I'm not in the habit of having one-night stands. You should get up before we're both late to breakfast."

"What happens when everyone finds out?" she asked, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Because of course they would.

"Does that bother you?"

She shook her head. "No. Guess not." With that, she threw back the covers and stood up, suddenly shy. "I guess I'll go shower. Um…" What the hell did she do /i now /i ? This was all brand-new territory and she was navigating along without a map.

He made an exasperated sort of sound and came over to her, then tugged her to him. "Come along. I have a much nicer shower than you do."

"Isn't that sort of like tempting fate?" she asked him, though she leaned in to his embrace as she found his touch reassuring. His hands rubbed gently at her back, and she relaxed a little.

He snorted, and then gave her a little push towards the bathroom. "Yes. Which is why you're going first."

"Oh." She went into the bathroom and started the water running in the shower. He wasn't lying. It was a _lot_ nicer than hers.

Fin!


End file.
